


World At War (No Trinity 2)

by Ajm8888, Randomideaguy, Worffan101



Series: No Trinity DCU [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DCU (Comics), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: All of Kara's friends are gay, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Donald Trump, Ares the Manipulative Bastard, Because fuck Donald Trump, Collaborative fic, F/F, Future bashing of Manhell, Gen, Harley Quinn the Gay Vigilante, Kara Zor-El the Gay Space Communist, Lex Luthor the Dubiously Heroic, Oliver Queen the Philanthropic Badass, Posting in part on behalf of my co-authors, President Lois Lane, Tagging Arrow because loneranger was partly inspired by it, Tagging Supergirl stuff because I was partly inspired by the show, Trans Character, and so is Kara, heavily AU, international politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-03 15:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 136,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajm8888/pseuds/Ajm8888, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomideaguy/pseuds/Randomideaguy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: Season 1, Part 2 of the No Trinity DC Universe; a collaborative effort by randomideaguy, theg*ddam*hoi2fan, and Worffan101 on alternatehistory.com, with contributions from ajm8888. . In a world where Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman never became superheroes, things are much different. Who will rise to the occasion and defend the world and the universe itself? Things will not be easy, as long unrecognized heroes finally get their chance in the spotlight.This foray features: Kate Kane, an ex-soldier on a mission to stop the god of war from causing a martial apocalypse; John Stewart, a former government man trying to find his place in the world; and introducing Kara Zor-El is a world-weary veteran who just wants to help and protect people.When a malevolent deity attempts to start the war to end all wars, will our heroes (even with new allies) be able to stop him? Read on to find out.





	1. For Truth, Justice, and Socialist Labor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 9 written by worffan101 (yours truly!). I'm sort of #3 in the group and mostly pass ideas back and forth with the other two to try to keep things consistent. I primarily write Kara Zor-El, since I'm a huge Supergirl junkie and really liked the Power Girl series with Amanda Conner's artwork. Although this version of Kara is part Power Girl and part Bombshells!Kara, and her supporting cast is mostly based on the Supergirl TV show (great show, can't stand Manhell), Hank Henshaw (Kara's first supervillain) is NOT the man from the show; he's basically a hybrid of the comics version and Donald Trump. Kara's Ukrainian adopted sister is based on a historical Hero of the Soviet Union who flew night bombing missions in WW2. 
> 
> Speaking of which, there's some nakedly political stuff in here. I'm not a fan of bigots. 
> 
> This episode marks the start of the Ares arc proper, which will be resolved in episode 16.

_Petrograd, Eurasian Coordinate. 7 January, 2012._  
  
“You should wear it again,” Nadezhda Vasil’yevna Popova urged her adopted sister. Katarina Popova, by the little Christmas tree in the women’s shared apartment, shook her head with a chuckle, the thick, leathery fabric of her sister’s present to her falling from her fingers.   
  
“I wouldn’t fit. Besides, it’s been almost seventy years.”   
  
“Ah, but you haven’t aged a day,” the old woman shot back with a chuckle. Her hand shook as she raised her hot chocolate to her lips, threatening to spill it on the sweater Katarina had gotten her. In a flash, the blonde was there, steadying her. “Thank you, dear. But please. One last time. Before I die.”   
  
“Stop pretending you already have one foot in the grave,” Katarina admonished. But there were real tears in her eyes. Both women knew that the former pilot was dying, and the doctors had all told her the same; nothing to be done, just old age, only a matter of time. Arrangements had been made, for Nadezhda and Katarina both; money set aside, rusty language skills brushed up on, a priest quietly contacted, surviving former comrades-in-arms notified, visitors had, passports checked, bags packed, and certain gentlemen of a more criminal profession contacted with regards to certain documents and identification. “And besides, I’ve grown out since the Great Patriotic War, it’d be too tight over my breasts and shoulders.”   
  
“I see those Western model girls shove theirs into those tiny swimsuits for that sports magazine every year,” Nadezhda argued. “Anything they can do, you can do better.”   
  
Katarina crouched, a thumb unconsciously rubbing a lock of her sister’s hair. “Why today, though? Why do you want me to wear it so badly?”   
  
“You still remember, don’t you?” Nadezhda replied, voice wavering slightly. She set down the hot chocolate with care. “Perfectly. Like it was yesterday. You in the suit, fighting  _Der Übermensch_  over Kursk, Kiev, and Berlin, flying alongside my Ilyushin as we fought the fascist tide?”   
  
“Of course.”   
  
“I…I need the reminder.” A tear formed in the old woman’s eye. Katarina’s eyes followed the nonagenarian’s to the far wall, where Nadezhda’s Hero of the Soviet Union medal sat proudly next to Katarina’s Order of Lenin, a framed photo of the People’s Angels in their flight gear all clustered around Katarina in her official costume, Katarina’s barely-adult body toned and slim and her smile as bright as the sun. “My memory isn’t what it used to be, of the days when you were the Red Star.” She tried to raise her left hand to her eye to wipe the tear away, the scars from one of  _Der Übermensch_ ’s assaults marring both sides of the organ, but her arm began to shake halfway. Katarina gently pushed the arm down, and wiped Nadezhda’s eye softly with her thumb.   
  
“Alright. One last time.”   
  
There was a blur, and a rush of air, and Katarina and the costume were gone. Seconds later, the blonde returned, wincing slightly as she came to a halt. “It pinches rather a lot.”   
  
“But you still look wonderful,” Nadezhda pointed out. Katarina looked down, and admitted that she was right, even with the zipper halfway down on the back and her muscular arms straining at the originally-looser jacket’s sleeves.   
  
A red cape flowed proudly down the blonde’s back, cinched with a hammer-and-sickle pin around the front and sewn tightly into the shoulders, the jacked and trousers themselves thick, heavy red Kevlar-like armor with slim metal plates inserted at key points. The bust with its prominent yellow hammer and sickle was a bit strained, but still mostly as it had been in the old days, and Katarina’s red boots—replacements, the originals having been found in a Stalingrad shop on the Red Army’s way past, and long lost in a desperate battle with the Nazis—were as bright as the day they’d been shipped to the front.   
  
“Do you remember Leningrad?” Katarina whispered. Nadezhda nodded. “The guns firing around us, your plane falling from the sky? The vengeance I wreaked upon the Nazi lines, thinking you dead?”   
  
“Like I never forgot,” her sister replied.   
  
“Do you remember Kursk? Your unflinching courage, diving for  _Der Übermensch_  when he had me at his mercy?”   
  
“I only behaved as a sister should.” Nadezhda’s scarred hand twitched at the memory.   
  
“Do you remember Berlin?”  _The fury of the Red Army, thirsty for the blood of the Germans, the end in sight; the panic and terror and resignation of the old men and boys defending the city, the fanatical fervor of the SS as they beat and shot their own men to force them into the fray, the fury of_ Der Übermensch _as Katarina threw him down, the screaming desperation of Hitler as he was dragged from his bunker, hauled panicked into the air by the scruff of his neck, helpless in the grasp of an angry god…_    
  
“ _Yes_.”   
  
***  
  
_Berlin, Greater German Reich. July 4th, 1945_.   
  
Kara Zor-El, the Red Star, flew over the burning city of Berlin as an angel of destruction. Her eyes burned with heat and light, Germans scrambling for cover and screaming in panic or defiance as the wrath of a god smote them from the Earth. Her escorts, her sister, were not with her, having been held for deployment until the anti-aircraft fire could be somewhat cleared as the Red Army closed on Berlin.   
  
She had been doing this for less than a minute, and already it felt like an eternity.   
  
The girl screamed with rage, venting her hatred for the war, the pointless cruelty, the mindless depravity of the death camps and the conniving soullessness of Stalin into her gaze, wanting only for this hell to be over. She carved a great, six-pillared gate with a sculpture of horses as a crown in twain with one more sweep of her heat rays, and pulled up, scanning the city and the catacombs beneath. The girl saw figures moving beneath, narrowing her vision in search of Hitler, in search of the monster who had caused all this, bullets bouncing harmlessly from her invincible form or leaving at worst scratches in her costume.   
  
_There_. She could see a small, rat-like joke of a man being escorted by larger, armed men into a bunker beneath the city, her alien eyes piercing easily through layer upon layer of rock, soil, and metal. She narrowed her eyes again, straining her ears for anything she could catch from this distance, through this much material, and in the middle of this—  
  
Something hit her like a battering ram. “ _Nein!_ ” the cold voice of  _Der Übermensch_  snarled in her ear, the emotionless drawl for once replaced with genuine fury. “ _Ich habe zu lange gearbeitet und zu hart, um Ihnen zu erlauben, meine Pläne jetzt zu vereiteln!_ ”   
  
Kara punched back with inhuman strength, sending the Nazi reeling. He recovered in midair with a snarl, his crisp black longcoat bearing the swastika symbol of the Third Reich proudly upon his chest. The German’s handsome features, framed by well-kept blonde hair, were marred by the empty pits that were his blue eyes, colder than the winter on the Bay of Kola. His normally-emotionless face was twisted into a snarl, the complete destruction of the murder-machine that he had so painstakingly built and the looming specter of his defeat finally forcing the Butcher of Prague to feel the Human emotion of wrath for the first time. “ _Ich werde dich in Staub zermahlen_ ,”  _Der Übermensch_  promised. “ _Du wirst als Fußnote auf dem Lauf der Geschichte bleiben, ein kleines Hindernis auf meinem Aufstieg zur Macht!_ ” Despite the fury and outrage in his tone, marring his usual emotionless drawl, the superman’s voice remained colder than anything but the gleaming pits of his eyes.   
  
“I will  _destroy_  you,” Kara Zor-El snarled in flawless Russian, her burning wrath thrumming in every syllable, hotter than the fury of her gaze. She flew at the Nazi faster than one of their new jets, her swing racing for his face like the fist of an angry god.  _Der Übermensch_ barely dodged in time, trying to loop around, but the Red Star spun like lighting. “I saw those  _monstrosities_  you created,” the Kryptonian hissed. “I saw what you did to those women to get the powers of my species.” She blocked the former Human’s punch and slammed her shoulder into his chest, sending him flying towards the  _Reichstag_ , but the Nazi corrected in midair and shot back towards her, Kara grabbing him at the last second and straining against his arms with bared teeth. “You are not a man,” the girl snarled. “You are a  _monster_. You set up a  _machine_  of murder, treating  _people_  like  _rats_. I will break you and everything you have built!” She twisted behind him, and the Nazi howled as she pinned his arm behind him. “I will fight your evil wherever I find it, for as long as I live!”   
  
“You will  _fail_ ,” the Nazi hissed, his cold voice bearing a distinct accent in Russian. “You seek to destroy fear itself, the most powerful of all emotions! I am the  _master_  of fear, girl! I am the Butcher of Prague!”   
  
Reinhard Heydrich threw the Kryptonian off of him, wrenching her over his head with a hand around her neck, sending her reeling end over end. “You cannot defeat me!” the Nazi roared in Russian, his eyes igniting with heat. “I have waited for my entire  _life_  to seize absolute power! I have spent every waking moment of the past twenty years working for that goal!” His gaze spat out, knocking a recovering Kara back again and ripping a hole in her suit. “I created an unprecedented system of organized and systematic killing for  _political capital_! You are just a girl in a silly costume, who received her powers from a freak of  _birth_ , and not by  _seizing_  them as I did!” He blocked Kara’s charging swing at his head and rammed a piledriver into her gut. “ _True_  power belongs to those with the will to take it for themselves!” He grabbed the disoriented Red Star by her shoulders and slammed her face into his knee. The Soviet heroine slumped, trying woozily to recover as Heydrich held her by the hair. “You will  _die_ ,” Heydrich hissed, bringing her close. “I will snap your neck and leave you to rot, and then I will crush your puny armies, and subjugate this entire world beneath my iron boot as you lie here powerless and forgotten. I have spent too long as a mere spymaster, too long a mere  _servant_. You pathetic creatures will  _all_  kneel before me, for  _I_  will be more than just your  _master_ ;  _I_  will be your—"   
  
He cut off as a drone of engines announced the arrival of reinforcements. Heydrich half-turned as Nadezhda Popova’s Ilyushin IL-2 dropped out of the clouds above Berlin, six more of the planes in formation behind him. The monster turned, lowering the hand holding the Kryptonian as he chuckled at the pilots’ boldness. Nadezhda opened fire with her plane’s main guns, but the shells bounced harmlessly off of Heydrich’s invincible skin, doing no more than tearing up his coat.   
  
“ _Pathetic_ ,” the Butcher of Prague hissed. Fire ignited in his eyes once more. “You will  _burn_ —"   
  
Kara  _lunged_. Heydrich felt two slender hands grasp his head, the Red Star’s thumbs falling over his eyes; momentarily confused, he groped at the organs, but then Kara’s legs gripped his torso, and her hands  _twisted_.   
  
The Soviet planes broke off their attack run and veered to either side of the living icon of Russian superiority as the Butcher of Prague’s lifeless corpse fell limply to the broken ground. The Red Star straightened, her eyes glowing with the fires of her vengeful wrath.   
  
Then she dove for the  _Reichstag_ , blasting open the great doors as she flew inside in search of Hitler.   
  
***  
  
_Petrograd. 2012_.   
  
“I remember,” Nadezhda whispered with a ghost of a smile. “I have only once been more proud to be your sister, even if not by birth.”   
  
“Once more?” Katarina asked, carrying her sister to her bed and carefully settling her down.   
  
“When you told Stalin you were done,” the old woman replied with a full grin. “And he threatened to send me to a gulag, and you almost killed him. You could have been the Red Star forever, you know.”   
  
“I would never have,” Katarina growled. “I was glad to fight Hitler, for Leonid and the other people Hitler and his filthy ilk killed. But Stalin was a liar and pig, who sent men to their deaths when he could easily have spared them. I am done with killing, Nadezhda. I killed the Nazis, tore them out at their root; I will not stoop to that level again.”   
  
“And I am proud of you,” Nadezhda said again, laying a fragile hand on the blonde’s arm, the other woman’s limb thick with corded muscle. “You could have had all of the fame and glory in the world, and you abandoned it because it would mean being a tool of a thug.” She patted Katarina’s cheek as the blonde tucked her in. “Thank you, Katarina—Kara Zor-El. When I die…I can die happy, knowing that you will carry on our legacy.”   
  
“Thank you, sister.” Kara wrapped Nadezhda’s hand in her own and held it to her heart. “When you are gone, hopefully not for a very long time, I will become someone else. I will move, perhaps to America or Germany—I haven’t decided yet. But I will move, and there I will continue the fight for  _Правда, справедливость и коммунизм_.”   
  
Nadezhda chuckled. It was a fragile, weak sound on the dying woman’s lungs. “After all these years, none of the incompetence and corruption of the Kremlin and the Party could shake you.”   
  
“It is a good idea,” Katarina replied. “Unlike Stalin, I actually  _read_  the works of Marx.” She stood, the cape still flapping a little awkwardly over the open zipper up her back. “I meant what I said, that day in Berlin. I may have hidden myself for these years to stop the Party from abusing us and to protect you, but I promise you, I will make good on my oath.”   
  
“Good,” Nadezhda smiled. “You should have done that years ago, sister.”   
  
“I hid to protect you.”   
  
“You know I would have taken the risk.”   
  
“I could not. I saw what Stalin did to people, remember?” Katarina shook her head. “I will start again, in a few years. Perhaps longer, if I can find a way to peacefully help people. A new identity, a new life, free from the control of grasping fools and craven liars. And then I will protect this world, to ensure that the power of fascism can never rise again.”   
  
Nadezhda’s eyes drooped as the old hero smiled once more. “You always did push yourself. You and your too-large heart…”   
  
She slipped into slumber soon after. Katarina smoothed the blankets over her and moved to the sitting room, picking up their mugs to clean.   
  
Hero of the Soviet Union Comrade Major (ret.) Nadezhda Vasil’yevna Popova, Order of Lenin (first class), Order of the Red Banner, etc., etc., passed away that night at the age of ninety.  
  
Ten days later, after a quiet funeral attended by a priest and one full-figured blonde in a heavy coat, Katarina Popova vanished off the face of the earth.   
  
***  
  
_Metropolis, United States of America. June 24th, 2015_.   
  
Karen Starr adjusted her sunglasses as she slipped into the Second National Bank of Metropolis, backpack slung over one shoulder. She cut a striking figure—a tall, powerful blonde, full-figured and robust with thick, corded arms and legs on a broad, muscular chest that only emphasized her buxom form—and her drab, baggy work clothes did little to ameliorate that.   
  
“Excuse me, please.” The two youngish men in crisp suits discussing their displeasure at Uncle Sam’s need to take a chunk of their paychecks—paychecks that they seemed to be insisting were barely possible to survive upon, when both men were ruddy-cheeked and sported slight paunches that their tailored Armani suits did nothing to hide—did a double-take when they saw her overalls and tank top straining to hold in her full chest, but thankfully moved aside with only one low whistle from the man with the more obnoxious toupee.   
  
Karen didn’t react. She’d gotten used to assholes decades ago.   
  
“Would you  _look_  at the rack on that babe,” she heard the man with the shiny toupee whisper to the one with the more normal-looking hairpiece as she got into line for the teller, something no human could hear from twenty feet away. “They natural, you think?”   
  
“Shut up, Donnie; your daddy may get away with sexual harassment, but you’re just another fish. Keep it in your pants or suffer the wrath of HR.”   
  
Karen tuned out the rest of the conversation. It was getting towards evening, she’d had to take the bus because there weren’t enough clouds to risk a flight, which meant an hour on a noisy, slow bus after a hard day’s work at her current construction job, all that she wanted to do was deposit her paycheck, get back home, set out the rent for tomorrow, and relax for an hour or so with her crotchety, adopted cat over an episode of  _Real Heroes DC_ , and set up her late sister’s samovar for some tea while she made dinner. And after hearing a speech from that businessman-turned-presidential-candidate, Hank Henshaw, over lunch while listening to Reyes’s radio, she had little time for assholes.   
  
_Criminals and rapists? That’s really all he thinks Mexicans are?_  Karen shook her head slightly at the thought. Henshaw was pandering to the worst sorts of racists. Hopefully he wouldn’t have a chance against President Lane in the general.   
  
A teller waved her over. “Hi, I need to deposit my paycheck and the ATM was down?”   
  
“Of course, ma’am.” Thank Rao, this would be quick. Karen could  _taste_  her pizza—wait. Something out of the corner of her eye caught Karen’s attention. Four men in black suits had entered, something off about their…  
  
That was a Nixon joke mask. Karen was already moving by the time the man’s oddly-shaped gun was out, grabbing the two people closest to her and shoving them down as the man in the Nixon mask shot a hole in the ceiling with a scintillating laser beam.   
  
Screams split the air, and more lasers took out the cameras.  _Shit_! Karen had to take these idiots down, there were too many civilians. She ducked down, whipping a bandana out of her overalls and tying it around her face in a second as the gunman roared at the crowd.   
  
“Get on the ground! Heads on the floor, hands in the air! Now, now!”   
  
Karen stood, carefully, making sure the bandana was tight. The man in the Lincoln mask saw her and moved towards her, brandishing another alien-looking gun.   
  
“Hey, get down, sister, I don’t want to use…”   
  
Karen  _blurred_  as she sped up to the man, a ripple of air exploding outwards in her wake as she tore the gun from the man’s hands, crushing its barrel into a useless mass as she grabbed Lincoln-Mask by his shirt and threw him into Truman-Mask, knocking both into an ungainly heap. Reagan-mask shouted in surprise, and Nixon-Mask shot her in the chest with a laser beam nearly as powerful as her own eye-beams, knocking her backwards. She leaped into the air, cursing as her breasts bounced without the support of her ruined bra (sports bras for a woman as well-endowed as Karen were  _expensive_ ), and powered into Nixon-Mask, smashing him to the floor before snapping his gun in two and socking him gently (for her) under the jaw to knock him out. Reagan-Mask snapped off another shot, which ripped through a teller’s desk and into the vault behind, but Karen was at his side in a second, breaking the gun over the man’s head. Truman-Mask and Lincoln-Mask tried to rise, but Karen’s superspeed sent her to their side in a microsecond, and she tapped both men’s heads together. They were out cold instantly.   
  
Karen cursed under her breath. The bandana was intact, if singed, but there was a hole in her overalls over most of her abdomen, reaching just up to the undersides of her breasts.  _Wonderful_. Rippling abdominal muscles flexed as the Kryptonian turned, and she blurred again as she sped over to the burning teller’s station.   
  
“Oh,  _Rao_. Someone call an ambulance, this man’s been badly burned!” The teller was out cold, the left side of his face crisply barbecued, his shoulder still slightly on fire (until Karen blew over it, ice crystals forming on the fabric), and there was a hole in the vault door behind him. Karen surreptitiously pocketed the check, that would have to wait. She hated the spike of relief that the teller wouldn’t be able to immediately reveal her identity. “I need a medic over here!”   
  
“I’m a nurse,” a heavyset, balding man said, hustling over from one of the lines. “Does anyone have a phone?” He hissed as he saw the teller’s injuries. “This man’s in shock. Lay him down gently, ma’am.” Karen obliged.   
  
“Hello, 911? I’m at the Second National Bank,” a woman said from behind Karen. “A gang of thugs just tried to rob the bank, a metahuman stopped them but they shot a teller. He’s badly hurt, you have to send an ambulance!”   
  
“You should go tie up those thugs, ma’am,” the nurse said to Karen. “I’ll take care of him.”   
  
“If you’re sure.” Karen stood, tugging her overalls to avoid a wardrobe malfunction, and hauled the unconscious thugs up against each other. Her ears prickled; sirens. Good.   
  
“You’re new, aren’t you?” a woman asked. Karen looked up; the middle-aged woman who’d been calling 911.   
  
“New?”   
  
“On the metahuman scene, I mean.” Ah. Of course.   
  
“Yes, I haven’t fought since…before. I had to act, though…”   
  
“Do you have an established alias, dear?” the woman asked. Karen grimaced.   
  
“Unfortunately not. This  _was_  rather spur-of-the-moment.”   
  
The woman patted Karen on the shoulder; it was rather like tapping a brick wall. “Alright. You should leave before the police arrive, there are enough of us to give statements. You’ll want a well-defined hero identity before you interact with law enforcement, alright?”   
  
“You’re sure?” Karen turned back to the nurse. “Do you need any more help?”   
  
“I’ve got him stable, for now,” the nurse replied. “Go home, lady, the cops around here understand first-time supers, as long as you claim responsibility within a week they’ll cut you a good deal.”   
  
“If you’re sure.” Karen tied off the knot binding the thugs’ hands together and stood to her full towering height of nearly two meters. “Thank you for helping that poor man.”   
  
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”   
  
“But still, it is noble.” Karen levitated from the ground, a few gasps breaking out. “Thank you both. It is the ordinary heroes like you who make it worthwhile to fight for truth, justice, and Socialist labor.”   
  
There was a  _blur_ , and she was gone. 

\-------------------------  
_Olsen & Lane (Inc.) offices. Central Metropolis_.   
  
“Lucy!” Jimmy Olsen, CEO and owner of the Olsen & Lane publicity consultancy firm, slammed the door behind him and strode for his junior partner’s office. The retired Marine was hunched over her desk. “Turn on the news!”   
  
“What?” Major (ret.) Lucy Lane, looked up from her computer. “I’ve been working on the Black Hand matter for al-Yemeni.”   
  
“A metahuman just foiled a bank robbery, about five minutes ago, I need you to get on the line with Queen’s people so we can get an ID.”   
  
“On it.” Lucy opened up a new window on her computer and started typing. “We going to take her in?”   
  
“We need help on the Black Hand case, and Lois wants me taking point on all new hero supers in Metropolis,” Jimmy pointed out. “Can you hack the security cameras remotely?”   
  
“For…Second National? I can’t, but Queen’s team can.”   
  
“Send them a secure message, I want to be the first to offer our services to this woman. Please tell Queen that I would like a copy of the recordings untouched before he blurs out her face in all of them.”   
  
“Yessir.”   
  
“We’re partners, Luce, no need to call me ‘sir’,” Jimmy chuckled.   
  
“Sorry. Old habits. Oh, hang on, Schott’s already on it, he sent me an email.” The battle-scarred Marine whistled as she pulled up footage from the one security camera to survive the robbery. “Jesus. She did a number on those guys. Makes even Athene look like a C-lister.” Lucy looked up at Olsen with a raised eyebrow. “I can see why you want us to get to her first.”   
  
Jimmy pulled out his laptop and sat at Lucy’s spare chair. “Indeed. I want to try something—her powers remind me of some else, I just want to double-check who.”   
  
“You think she’s a former super?”   
  
“Maybe. Probably a daughter or granddaughter.” The black man tapped a short phrase into his search bar. “You ever hear of the Red Star?”   
  
“Soviet super, Second World War. KIA over Berlin, left us as the only nation with active-duty metahumans until Audie Murphy hung up the Captain Freedom cape in ’52 to protest McCarthy. A leggy blonde, A-list flying-brick powers with some kind of destructive energy attack. Faced off that Nazi super before the mutual kill over Berlin, rumored to have survived but never proven.”   
  
“That’s the one. Flight, invulnerability, category-five superhuman speed, and category-seven superhuman strength.” The National Organization for the Advancement of Metahuman Interests classified superhuman speed and strength on seven-point scales; seven was the strongest. Most metahumans with strength and speed powers didn’t get above four, five or six was considered A-list, a top-tier super. “She was young, but old enough to have a kid, maybe leave the kid with the family. And with the political climate in the postwar Soviet Union, I can see why a daughter or relative would try to pass as human during the ‘60s metahuman drought. My only question is why she didn’t go public during the first wage of vigilante metahuman activity in the late 1970s.”   
  
“Didn’t Captain Murphy meet the Red Star once?” Lucy asked, pulling up a picture of the bandana-wearing metahuman and activating a search algorithm. “Also, the cameras got shot out at some point, but Schott was apparently already hacking.”   
  
“Queen’s team got back to you already? Good. And I think so, why?”   
  
“Lois owes me a favor, I can call Captain Murphy in? For a remote consult, at least, he’s in Korea last I checked but should have some free time.”   
  
Jimmy mulled the option over. “How big is this favor? I don’t want to upset the client or waste valuable leverage…”   
  
“I sat through an entire Thanksgiving dinner without punching the General.” Lucy’s relationship with her father had been  _strained_  to say the least ever since she’d been caught kissing another woman in a gay bar and drummed out of the Marines. General Samuel Lane’s last non-holiday interaction with his younger daughter had been to use political connections to keep her discharge honorable (so as not to affect the family reputation); they hadn’t spoken outside of the annual Thanksgiving and Christmas fights ever since.   
  
Jimmy winced and shook his head. “Not necessary. It’s more important to get her current ID.”   
  
Lucy’s computer pinged. She grinned. “Speak of the devil. Schott just got back to me, I’ve got a 75% match; Karen Starr, a temp worker and charity volunteer. Does a lot of construction work; she’s a leggy blonde who does a lot of physical labor. Also, it looks like she appeared out of nowhere back in 2012.”   
  
“You have records?”   
  
“There are a couple of papers before that, but they’re sporadic. Smells fishy to me.”   
  
Olsen grabbed his coat off of the hook. “What do you have on her schedule?”   
  
“Schott’s working on it. But I’d assume she’s headed back to her apartment—got an address!”   
  
“Print it and bring it, we’re paying Ms. Starr a visit.”   
  
“On my way.”   
  
***  
  
_Karen Starr's apartment, Metropolis_.   
  
“Hello,  _Cмугастий_  …” Karen Starr muttered, patting her ancient, ornery cat on the head as she closed her balcony’s window. The Kryptonian shut the blinds, flipped on the lights, and stripped out of her overalls. “Damn it…and this was a  _good_  bra, too…” The robber’s laser gun had torched a hole right through the overalls and burned through the bottom of Karen’s bra, leaving the melted remains of the wires stuck to her skin. Karen pried the metal off with a fingernail; damn, it had leaked partway down her abdomen before solidifying. Hopefully nobody had seen that.   
  
“Sixty dollars down the drain,” Karen muttered angrily. “I forgot how much clothing costs…”   
  
She’d have to do a shopping trip tomorrow. In the meantime, Karen set up the samovar and then ducked into her shower to wash the ash off. She floated out, as she usually did, right over the expectant face of  _Cмугастий_ , who as was his custom immediately jumped into the shower stall and began exploring the remaining bits of water with something approaching childish wonder.   
  
Not for the first time, Karen wondered if she might need to get a psychologist for her cat. There was a Dog Whisperer on one of the animal channels, maybe there was something like that for other pets?   
  
Dinner ended up being frozen pizza cooked with heat vision. Karen settled with a sigh in front of her cheap television in her fluffy grey bathrobe (a lucky find on a Goodwill trip on her troublesome first year in the land of Ponzi schemes and capitalism), her cat leaping up onto the couch and settling in her lap seconds later. “Eager today, aren’t we?”  _Cмугастий_ made a sound like a chainsaw in response and curled up in an overweight fluffy mass in Karen’s lap.   
  
“You could sleep anywhere,” Karen chuckled.  _Cмугастий_  began to vibrate rhythmically with a sound like a coffee grinder dying.   
  
There was a knock at the door. Karen looked up in confusion. Her alien eyes pierced the door with ease; there was a tall man standing next to a muscular woman out there, the man in a crisp suit with a coat and the woman in slacks and a blue button-down. That was  _fast_ , it had only been about an hour since she’d stopped the robbery.   
  
_Смугастий_ , predictably, dug his claws in. “One minute!” Karen called out, carefully detaching the balefully-glaring cat from her bathrobe. Foiled,  _Смугастий_  hissed and trotted off with his tail held high.   
  
Karen tugged the bathrobe to straighten it, the lower edge just reaching her knees, and trotted at regular Human speed to the door. She opened it about a quarter of the way with a carefully confused smile. “Hello, can I help you?”   
  
“Jimmy Olsen, Olsen & Lane Incorporated, bespoke publicists.” The man, a handsome African-American with a rich baritone, offered a hand. “This is Lucy Lane, my partner. Are you Karen Starr?”   
  
“Who wants to know?” Karen challenged.   
  
“Ma’am, we’re on your side. We saw the footage from the bank, and Ms. Lane and myself are willing to take your case pro bono. May we come in?”   
  
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re…”   
  
“I can see your cat playing with a pair of overalls that have a massive charred hole at about mid-chest height,” the woman pointed out, poking a finger to the gap between Karen and the door. Karen turned with a muttered curse. Only  _Смугастий_  was there, but her overalls weren’t.   
  
Oh,  _damn_ , that trick was embarrassingly obvious.   
  
“Ms. Starr,” Olsen tried again. “May we please come in?”   
  
Karen resigned herself to her fate. “Alright. Tea is in the samovar. Earl Grey, my greatest vice.”   
  
“Everyone needs to splurge once in a while,” Olsen agreed, shutting the door behind him. Karen took a moment to give her visitors a good once-over. Olsen was a tall, muscular man with chiseled features and an air of confidence. Lane was a mid-sized, muscular woman with heavy scarring on the left side of her otherwise classically-beautiful face, a chunk missing from the upper left ear, and pixie-cut brown hair cut short on the right to mirror the scarred left. She moved like a tiger, sure and precise.   
  
Karen grabbed  _Смугастий_  with one easy arm as the antisocial animal attempted to do a flying leap into Olsen’s thighs, shoved him into her bedroom, shut the door, and turned with her closest attempt at a disarming smile to her guests. “So! You know what I am.”   
  
“An A-list metahuman,” Olsen replied with a nod. “We’re willing to take your case pro bono until further notice, and you can drop us at any time if you feel that another service will offer better representation.”   
  
“Who are some of your clients?” Karen challenged.   
  
“We’ve handled PR work for the Coast Giants, the NOAMI, the Eagle, and several other independent metahumans. We’re also on retainer with Captain Freedom and the Murphy Foundation, and with a couple of others. All strictly above-board, although one of our associations is known only to us, that client, and the President, and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.”   
  
“A nice collection of medals up here,” Lucy noted, taking in the shelf over Karen’s little two-seat dinner table. “Hero of the Soviet Union, Order of Lenin, Order of the Red Banner. Yours?”   
  
“My s—great-aunt, Nadezhda’s. She fought for the Soviet Union in the second World War. I am afraid that I am not intimately familiar with the process of becoming a recognized metahuman vigilante…”   
  
“It’s fine, we can walk you through that,” Olsen assured her. “We have a good standing relationship with the police—we’ll notify them as soon as you accept our services, then one business day later they’ll send over an officer. We’ll give you a little coaching on how to respond if you like; it should be pretty informal, just a summary on what you are and aren’t allowed to do, and a bit of dialogue to hopefully start your relationship with the police well.”   
  
“I know the officer on the Metropolis force who handles most of the metahuman relations business,” Lane added. “She and I go to the same bar, she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”   
  
“And after that?” Karen asked.  
  
“It’s customary to give a press conference, we’ll set that up and give you some help with responding to the press. The police will be there to confirm that you are acting with legitimate governmental support. On which note, unless you accept a recruitment offer from the government, which may or may not come, you will be acting as a concerned civilian. Political advocacy is acceptable, political  _violence_  is not. The police will walk you through the necessary legal matters there.”   
  
“And how many strings are attached to your offer?”   
  
“None,” Olsen answered honestly. “Our business model focuses on providing top-quality service at affordable prices. We have funding from our long-term clients, so we can afford to take cases pro bono, and we prefer to let the quality of our service speak for itself.”   
  
“I see.” Karen stood, walked over to her samovar, and poured herself a little more tea. “I will accept, then, on a provisional basis.”   
  
“Excellent,” Jimmy replied with a broad grin. “I’ve got a standard contract written up, sign whenever you like; we can do an initial consult now so you can get a feel for us.”   
  
“No need.” Karen accepted the pen and sheet of paper, scanned the fine print, and nodded sharply before signing.   
  
“Thank you, ma’am,” Olsen said as he accepted the  _pro bono_ contract back. “We’d just like to ask a few questions to get a feel for your publicity needs.”   
  
“Alright.”   
  
“OK,” Jimmy said, as Lucy pulled out a laptop and opened it up. “First off, how comfortable are you with social media?”   
  
“I’ve never used it,” Karen replied.   
  
“Hmm, OK, we might need to get you a Twitter account if you’re comfortable with that. Our metrics show that the public likes relatable heroes who spend time on social media. How comfortable are you with your powers?”   
  
“I have had them since I was about 13. I am completely aware of my abilities and limits.”   
  
“Good, good, that’ll go over well with the police. How about fashion sense? Any ideas for a costume?”   
  
Karen shook her head with a chuckle. “Honestly, all I need is something extremely durable that will support my breasts. Fighting with a bouncing bosom isn’t pleasant.”   
  
“Understood, we’ll keep that in mind when offering potential outfits. How important to you is your civilian identity?”   
  
“Not very. Helping my fellow workers is more important to me.”   
  
“Alright. How comfortable are you with a potential reality show option?”   
  
“I must decline. I  _enjoy_  “Real Heroes DC” but I cannot accept the risk to camerapeople that will come from recording the fights that I will likely eventually become involved in. However, I am open to televised political advocacy.”   
  
“On that note, any political opinions that you feel comfortable sharing? We like to have prior knowledge so we can deal with political matters pre-emptively.”   
  
Karen poured herself some more hot tea. “I am a communist, I should put that right out front,” she admitted. “I act as one of the working class, was raised among the working class, and my greatest sympathies lie with the working class. I also have little patience for racism, sexism, and other forms of bigotry. Indeed, the only reason I have not become active earlier was out of concern for my immediate family; as I am now alone, I hope to begin helping to change the world for the better.”   
  
Olsen let out a breath. “Ok. We can work with that, but I suggest  _not_  declaring yourself a communist unless directly asked. People still get a little leery of that around here. I’m also going to try to set up a meet between you and Captain Freedom to discuss getting you involved with the Murphy Foundation’s political-advocacy wings.”   
  
“Captain Audie Murphy? A good man, strong handshake.” Lucy furrowed her brow at that, but Karen changed the subject. “Do you have any other questions?”   
  
“Another personal one, feel free not to answer but the press will want to know this so we’ll probably need answers ready—or at the very least deflections. Is there anyone special in your life, and might there be in the future?”   
  
“I have no romantic or sexual entanglements, have not had any in a long time, and do not plan on having any in the immediate future,” Karen replied firmly. “I also have personal reasons related to my abilities for not entering a relationship, but I do not feel comfortable discussing that matter in detail.”   
  
“Sounds good—Lucy, do you think we can pass that off to the press as ‘loving the people too much to play favorites’?”   
  
Lucy hummed. “Maybe? It’d rely on the  _Planet_ ’s tabloid wing’s cooperation. I’ll mark it down as an angle we can push.”   
  
“OK, let’s get a couple of nice frivolous things down so that we can give the tabloids some fodder. Any hobbies?”   
  
“I work for Habitat for Humanity on weekends.”   
  
“Excellent, charity work, that always goes over well with the public.” Olsen moved to the next item on his list. “How about TV shows? I heard you liked  _Real Heroes DC_?”   
  
“A guilty pleasure,” Karen admitted with a blush.   
  
“We all have our own,” Olsen replied with a grin. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, ma’am; mine’s  _The Fast and the Furious_. I don’t care how increasingly idiotic those movies are, I love them all the same.”   
  
Lucy and Karen chuckled at that. “Mine’s  _Commando_ ,” Lucy admitted, still typing up notes on her computer. “Also  _Dr. No_. Ursula Andress taught me what sexuality meant.”   
  
“I still can’t believe you voluntarily watch  _Commando_ , that movie’s incredibly stupid even by mindless action movie standards,” Jimmy muttered. “Anyway, Ms. Starr, we just need a couple more human touches to sell your image to the press. I see you have a cat, maybe we can get a pose with the two of you?”   
  
“He doesn’t behave for  _anyone_ ,” Karen warned.   
  
“Maybe candid pictures, then. Now, your image—do you want kid-friendly, sexy, mysterious, all-American, or something else?”   
  
“I am a servant of the people,” Karen replied, crossing her arms.   
  
“Hmmm…so all-American? We really need more of an outline to help guide you to a suitably marketable image.”   
  
“I think that a loving, open protector of the people is the best description for my goal.” Karen grimaced. “I want to help people. That is all.”   
  
“OK, so we can start with all-American but downplay the patriotism—Lucy, do you have a handle on what the client wants?”   
  
“Yep,” Lucy nodded. “I’m sketching up some ideas.”   
  
“Great. Now, the fun part, Ms. Starr. What were you thinking of for your public name?”   
  
Karen smiled. “I have…several ideas.”   
  
***  
  
_Henshaw Tower, central Metropolis_.  _10:00 AM, June 25th, 2015._  
  
Hank Henshaw, real-estate magnate, reality-TV star, and Presidential candidate, gripped his lectern with both hands. “This bank robbery shows why we need to get the aliens and illegals out of our country!” he thundered. “Other countries laugh at us because we have so much crime! Crime rates have tripled, I think, maybe even quadrupled, or I heard from BiteBark News that they’re up by five times, I don’t know if that’s true but there’s an article that says so. It’s all because of these aliens and terrorists, making our country dangerous!”   
  
The crowd cheered, a young man in the back with a black longcoat even shouting “Hail Henshaw!”. Excellent. Time to reel them in.   
  
“Trust me, when I’m President, believe me, there’ll be some CHANGES around here! We’ll get the illegals out, we’ll get the aliens out, we’ll get real bigly about keeping our borders secure!” Inspiration hit. “We’re gonna build a wall!” A gasp rippled across the crowd. “We’re gonna build a big, beautiful wall on the border!” Henshaw yelled, really getting into it. “We’re gonna build a wall, and we’re gonna kick the Mexicans and the aliens out, and we’re gonna make them pay for it!” Shit, had he gone too far?   
  
The crowd went wild with cheers. Henshaw hid his internal sigh of relief. Conning people was a difficult and finicky art. The candidate pulled his hands from the lectern, shaking them back and forth slightly. “Thank you! Trust me, I know what I’m doing! Believe me, I’m gonna run this country like a business, trust me, I’m so successful, we’re going to make such a great wall, just like how I’m so rich, the beauty of me is that I’m really very rich.” Somehow that got more cheers. Maybe he’d been wrong. This was shaping up to be the easiest con Henshaw had ever run.   
  
“And let me tell you about these supers!” Henshaw yelled. “These supers, they’re un-American! Look at Jump City, we’re disrespecting our police, making them weak, we need to make them strong, police need respect, there’s a couple of gays dressed like clowns running around attacking our brave boys in blue over there, makes us look weak, not like the Russians! We need to be strong, we need to be more like the Coordinate, everybody respects them because they’re strong, and we’re not strong, we look weak! Trust me, I’ll make America strong! I’ll make America great again, believe me! And it’s gonna be beautiful, trust me, I know, I’ve built so many beautiful things, so successful, so rich, believe me, just trust me and I’ll make this country strong!” He paused for a breath, and basked in the cheers.   
  
“Believe me, we won’t be failing any more!” Hank insisted as the cheers started to wane. “Lois Lane has failed! It’s a failed administration, so much failure, so weak! We’re going to succeed, we’re going to be so successful, so bigly, it’s gonna be great! Trust me, we’re going to get rid of this Washington-insider regime and make America strong again, make people respect us because they’re scared of what we can do!” He raised a hand to wave to the crowd. “Thank you so much for your support, such a good crowd, I can tell you really like me. Make America strong again!”   
  
His campaign manager, a former banker who looked like an alcoholic street bum shoved uncomfortably into a suit, was waiting when Hank stepped out of the atrium, the door muffling some of the cheers. “Nice work out there, Hank, really got the sheep pulling for you.”   
  
“Thanks, Sean.” Henshaw loosened his tie as Sean Bentley pulled up a list of notes on his smartphone. “They ate that shit up, all I had to do was bring up the beaners and the xenos and they wanted to vote for me.” He chuckled at the ease of it all.   
  
“Yeah, I saw, good work out there. But you gotta see this, Hank.” Bentley turned the smartphone so his boss could see.   
  
“What?” Henshaw squinted at the screen, and swore.   
  
“That super who foiled the robbery’s giving a press conference.” 

\-----------------  
_Olsen & Lane, Inc., offices_.  _8:00 AM EST, June 25th, 2015_.  
  
Karen Starr looked up from Jimmy Olsen’s computer as the door opened. A pretty Latina in a Metropolis PD uniform entered, a pen and notepad in her hands and a slim folder under her arm. “Lucy! Missed you at karaoke night last night!” she called.  
  
“I had a date!” Lucy yelled back, taking a swig of her coffee.  
  
“She pretty?”  
  
“Eh, not that kind of date.” The former soldier kicked back in her chair. “Consultation and such, you know how it is.”   
  
“Ah, so it’s  _you_  I can thank for the tip on LordTech. The Chief’s pretty happy right now, we’ve been catching heat for not making much headway on white-collar crime.” The officer turned to Karen. “Captain Maggie Sawyer, Metropolis PD Metahuman Relations. I handle all precincts. I assume you’re the lady I was contacted about?”  
  
“That is correct,” Karen replied, shaking the offered hand. Maggie’s eyes flitted up and down her body—Karen really needed to get clothes less revealing than tank tops and blue jeans made for men—but her handshake was firm and her eyes snapped back up to Karen’s with professional speed. “Karen Starr. Please don’t spread it around.”  
  
“Of course. Lucy mentioned that you’re interested in becoming a sanctioned vigilante?”  
  
“Yes.” Karen pulled up a pair of chairs; Maggie sat with a smile and murmured  _thank you_. “I have had the basics explained to me, but I was told that you will give me the legal information?”  
  
“Yep! You’ll be relying on your publicists here for legal aid, most likely—with the Murphy Foundation backing them they can hire some decent lawyers, but those are more of a safety valve or insurance than anything. We like to make it clear first and foremost that despite your powers, you are  _still_  legally a civilian citizen, so you  _can_  be held liable for property damage or preventable deaths.”  
  
“Preventable deaths?”  
  
“Deaths caused as a result of  _your_  actions that you could have prevented. For example, if you can shoot fire from your hands and the super you’re fighting dodges, and you hit a bystander, you can be held liable. Some cases are more iffy; if you’re fighting a psychopath who’s taken hostages, and negotiations fail, and you’re sent in, and people die before you can take the hostage-taker down, we will generally give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you made your best effort to take the perp down—blame would rest on the officer who ordered you in in that case. Keep in mind, since you are a civilian your legal powers end where the police’s presence begins; if officers are on the scene handling it, you stop when they tell you to stop and you ask permission to take major actions.”  
  
“That seems fair.”  
  
“We like to think so. Now, I’m going to have to point out this brochure…” Sawyer opened the folder and held out a brochure. “This is a run-down on what being a sanctioned vigilante means. You’re one step above a regular civilian but one below a consultant. You work with us, we pass you tips, you work within the law, you stop crimes you see in progress, but we don’t pay you. We  _do_  have a budget for metahuman consultants, but there are more restrictions and you’re required to have health insurance, life insurance, and to have your cover identity on file at all times.”  
  
“What if I were to join the police?”  
  
Sawyer leaned forwards. “Free, if shitty, health insurance, cheap dental, pension fund, but the pay’s less than that of a consultant and you can’t refuse orders. For example, that hypothetical hostage situation—a super on the force who was ordered in wouldn’t be able to say no if they thought there was a risk of civilians getting hurt. A consultant or sanctioned vigilante could.”  
  
Karen nodded. “I see. Sanctioned vigilante seems the best for me, then.”  
  
“Excellent.” Maggie uncapped her pen. “So, what level of legal knowledge do you have, Ms. Starr?”  
  
“I know the Constitution, and have read the basic criminal statutes. I am not well-versed on white-collar criminal law.”  
  
“Alright. I’ll just go over this as a review, then. Your arresting powers as a sanctioned vigilante are limited—you must contact the police or have a civilian do so as soon as a fight you’re in is over. If you have prisoners, you may not continue to rough them up, must ensure that no further harm comes to them until the police arrive, and should contain them until that time. If necessary you may transport an injured suspect directly to the hospital, but we do require a form to be filled out afterwards and video or photo evidence submitted to the department. Please do  _not_  transport a suspect in a crime that you foil directly to the police station; if we have an APB out on someone then by all means, please fly them down to the precinct, but other than that we do  _not_  like people just leaving crooks tied up outside the door; it makes it too easy for defense lawyers to get them off, and it ruins the crime scene. We’ll take your statement when necessary, though if you set up a regular patrol our officers  _will_  wave you on if you’re on your normal route.”  
  
“I see,” Karen mused with a slight smile. “This is rather more complicated than the last—ah, than I had anticipated.”  
  
“You were a super before?” Maggie asked, eyes sharp.  
  
“…a long time ago, yes. There aren’t any records, at least not ones about me.”  _Technically_  that wasn’t a lie,  _Karen Starr_ ’s name wasn’t attached to any heroics…yet.  
  
“I see.” Sawyer was frowning slightly, but she let the subject drop. She pulled another brochure out. “We also would like to be updated  _before_  the media on any change in public identity or costume, as well as any additional hero identities you might use. This just helps build trust, we like having good working relationships with supers and vice versa.”  
  
“How many supers have you worked with?”  
  
“Three on a regular basis. We’ve been super-free here since the Eagle moved out to California to start a film career on the side two years ago; I joined the force eight years ago and I’ve been working Metahuman Affairs for six. I met Captain Freedom once; he was in town for some charity thing that I got sent to help guard—Metahuman Affairs personnel work as regular officers outside of their special duties—then this would-be super-criminal attacked the ball, blew up the dessert table and started monologuing about how his reign of terror was about to begin. Captain Freedom knocked him out in about six seconds, I got his autograph after I took his statement.” Sawyer’s eyes shone at the memory of being star-struck. “He’s everything a hero should be—kind, compassionate, strong, brave, selfless, noble…” She chuckled. “If he were a woman I’d be begging for a date.”  
  
“Audie Murphy is a very noble person,” Karen agreed, eyes far away. “Much like my sister.”  
  
“Sister?”  
  
“She’s dead.” Karen’s reply was curt. “I do not want to talk about the matter anymore.”   
  
“Of course,” Maggie assured her. “This is just a first meeting, no need to go into details.” She shuffled the remaining papers in the folder. “You won’t need most of these…please just fill out this form and I’ll set you up with the force.”  
  
Karen looked over to Jimmy, who leaned over, took the form as she held it out, scanned it, and nodded. “Answer honestly, this is fine.”  
  
“Jimmy,” Sawyer groaned. “You wound me.”  
  
“Just doing my job.”  
  
“Point,” the officer acknowledged. “Do you have any more questions, Ms. Starr?”  
  
“What am I allowed to do as far as investigation goes?”  
  
“Legally you have the same qualifications as a member of the press once you fill out that form and we register you. We request that you keep a sanctioned vigilante qualification card on you at all times while on active duty—I’ll print one out and drop it off here tomorrow. This will not contain private-identity information. You can still be held liable for contaminating or damaging evidence, of course.”  
  
“I would expect nothing less.” Karen handed the form back over. “Thank you, Captain Sawyer.”  
  
“My pleasure.” Maggie looked down at the form, and the superhero name that Karen had written down. “Ooh, I like the name. You got a costume?”  
  
Jimmy turned his desktop monitor around on its swiveling base. “Preliminary design, I'm setting up a contract for a prototype to be made and shipped down here by tomorrow. What do you think?”  
  
Maggie licked her lips and grinned. “I  _like_  it.”  
  
***  
  
_10:00 AM, June 26th, 2015. Metropolis PD 25th precinct station_.  
  
Kara Zor-El floated down gently, her new costume snug but comfortable thanks to Jimmy Olsen’s costume-making contact. Olsen was already waiting with Maggie Sawyer and MPD Superintendent Loeb by the lectern that had been set up a little out of the way of the police building’s main entrance; Lucy Lane was nowhere to be seen.  
  
The cameras were already flashing as Kara floated down from the sky, and she smiled and waved as Olsen had coached her. Her new outfit was a one-piece affair, a fused high-necked tank top and bike shorts in white with a red cape and the symbol of her mother’s Kryptonian House (the House of Ze), a stylized insignia looking somewhat like an English P (or a Russian  _P_ ), over her breasts. A concealed zipper ran up the back beneath the cape, and a mesh shirt with a strong, wire-supported bra held her in place underneath while allowing her arms and legs plenty of room to display her powerful muscles.  
  
_“We’re going for ‘heroic build’, not ‘sexpot’,”_  Olsen had explained to his contact.  _“She’s a big woman, and doesn’t want to bounce too much during fights. But I want her biceps on display, showing some leg, too; she’s got nice skin and some good muscles, we need to use those and since she’s invulnerable there’s no need for complete coverage.”_  The final outfit was satisfactory, Kara thought, and the color went well with her pixie-cut blonde hair.  
  
She had kept her Red Star boots. Kara had, in fact, been quite insistent on that.  
  
Olsen stepped up to the microphone as Kara landed, and tapped it gently. “Ladies, gentlemen, if we could please quiet down just a bit?” The reporters and general crowd obliged. “Our new superhero, publicity managed by Olsen & Lane, Incorporated, with generous support provided by the Audie Leon Murphy Foundation and the National Organization for the Advancement of Metahuman Interests, will introduce herself shortly. Before we begin, I’d like to thank you all for coming out here on such short notice, this is a lovely show of support for our new heroine. The Metropolis Police Department, we are happy to announce, has sanctioned our client’s status as a civilian assistant, and our client hopes for a good working relationship going forwards.” There was a general satisfied murmur from the crowd as the Commissioner and Sawyer smiled and nodded; that was a standard line, but with the police there it was an important reassurance to the public. “With that, I cede the microphone to our client, Power Woman.”  
  
Kara stepped up, nerves twisting in her gut. Cameras flashed, and she pulled out the old Red Star smile.  
  
“Hello, Metropolis. I’m Power Woman. I’ll be helping the police out from now on, protecting the people of this city and our country from threats and taking down those who seek to abuse our people. I’m here for you, and I’ll do everything I can to keep Metropolis, America, and the world safe, free, and equal.” Kara had wanted to come out stronger, but Jimmy Olsen had insisted that she tone it down; the Eurasian Coordinate had come out with metahuman operatives in the years since Kara’s emigration, and several other regimes of dubious decency and legitimacy maintained their own supers; they would not like a challenge.  
  
All of the reporters stood at once. Kara looked them over and picked a dark-skinned woman in the middle of the pack, hair in a bun. “You, ma’am? Second row, red blouse.”  
  
“Hi, yes, Shona Jones, People Magazine. Our readers want to know, is there a special man in your life?”  
  
Kara groaned. “Really, you’re going to start with that? Not my background, or my powers, or something actually relevant? No, I’m not dating, if I were I wouldn’t be dating a man. Next—first row, blue power tie.”  
  
“Hello, I’m Bill O’Leary, with Plonc, and I…”  
  
“Wait,  _what_?” Kara couldn’t help but interrupt at that. “What is  _Plonc_?”  
  
“Uh, Planet Online Content…”  
  
“Who the… _who came up with that name_?” Kara struggled to hold down her laughter.  
  
“It was a corporate decision made last month,” the man admitted, looking somewhat surly. “The same corporate decision that eliminated my old—uh, the  _Daily Planet_ ’s dedicated city hall beat, and believe me, ma’am, before you start criticizing  _that_ decision you’d be preaching to the choir.”  
  
Kara stopped open-mouthed, and grinned. “Oh, I  _like_  you, Mr. O’Leary. What do you want to know?”  
  
“Well, we’ve seen that you have flight, invulnerability, and super-strength; what is the full breakdown of your powers and how great is your control over them?”  
  
Kara leaned in, arms crossed on the lectern. “I have category-seven superstrength,” and a gasp went through the crowd, that was the hypothetical highest category of superpowers, beyond anything recorded on Earth since 1945, “flight, category-five superhuman speed, comparable to a first-generation Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-15 in level flight, category six or higher invulnerability—I have never had the opportunity to test that properly, I suspect that I am completely or near-completely invulnerable—category-five superhuman senses including X-ray vision, superhuman hearing an order of magnitude superior to that of a trained watchdog, laser vision that I think is about category-four or five based on comparable energy projection abilities, and category-two cryokinesis in the form of freeze breath.” She was underselling the speed a bit—she’d once tracked an MiG-21  _Balalaika_  flying at Mach 2 from the clouds when a KGB-created metahuman was trying to defect, but Kara didn’t want to give away  _too_  much yet.  
  
O’Leary looked pale. “That’s…beyond A-list,” he managed.  
  
“I am aware.” Kara adjusted the microphone. “I have had these powers for several decades, and as you no doubt witnessed from the bank footage, I am in complete control of my abilities. I have been made aware of the Metropolis Police Department’s quite reasonable policies for sanctioned vigilantes, and will conform to these policies without reservation or conditions. Your safety, people of Metropolis and the world, is my highest concern.”  
  
A woman in the front row raised a hand. Kara pointed to her. “You, in the fetching green blouse.”  
  
“Ah, Felicity Jones, with the Chronicle. What is the origin of your superhuman abilities?”  
  
“I am not willing to divulge that information. My origin is a very personal matter, and one that is impossible to replicate, therefore posing no risk to the proletariat.”  
  
More hands raised, still cautious. “Second row, burgundy suit and glasses.”  
  
“Brick Tamland, Channel Four.” The voice was loud and tone-deaf, the speech flat (as if the reporter were being prompted remotely). “Why do you want to become a superhero?”  
  
“I wish to advance the freedom and equality of all people, and believe strongly in the rights of the proletariat,” Kara began. “My sister taught me that it is right to love all of the world and to protect the people from abuse and exploitation, and since her…passing…I have decided to carry on her legacy. It is the essential nature of the march of history that the proletariat should march for greater equality and freedom, and that the forces of reaction should fight against them in an attempt to maintain their power. I have aligned myself with the working class, and seek to render oppression, bigotry, discrimination, classism, and other tools of the bourgeoisie obsolete, to leave them in the ash heap of history.”  
  
Olsen’s jaw was twitching slightly, and his heart rate had spiked. Loeb looked uncomfortable. Sawyer was carefully neutral. Kara paused—had she been too forward?  
  
Another group of hands raised. Kara pointed to a bleached-blonde young man with so much oil in his hair that it gleamed like the tacky fake jewelry that adorned his cheap suit. “You, second row.”  
  
“Mike E. Lefkowitz, BiteBark News.” Olsen stiffened fast enough for Kara to hear the intake of breath, followed by a whispered “ _who let THEM in_?” to Sawyer. Lefkowitz cleared his throat at length. “Are you a commie?”  
  
“A what?” Kara asked, deliberately obtuse.  
  
“A commie—you know, un-American, SJW, a communist?” Olsen was whispering something to Sawyer but Kara didn’t pay attention.  
  
“Which of those three do you mean? I see no reason why a communist cannot be American, and I am afraid that I don’t know what an “SJW” is—my civilian job involves a very long day of physical labor, and I am not up-to-date on modern youth slang.”  
  
“Social justice warrior, the kind who want to destroy religious freedom and let men sneak into women’s bathrooms?”  
  
“OK, I’m going to take over here for a moment,” Olsen interjected, yanking the microphone sideways and leaning in. “Power Woman is against all forms of discrimination and believes that all people have equal rights, regardless of race, ethnicity, gender, or sexual orientation. Please keep the questions for my client on topic.”  
  
“And I must admit that I am, in fact, a communist,” Kara said, taking the microphone back. Olsen jerked as he instinctively went for the microphone but discipline in front of the crowd held him back. “I believe that by harnessing the power of labor through unionization and organization, and by bringing the working class into greater representation in politics, we can solve the problems of our world and achieve the end goal of a freer, more equal and harmonious future.”  
  
Kara straightened, crossing her powerful arms under her breasts. “In essence, Mr. Lefkowitz, and expanding upon my response to Mr. Tamland, I am devoted to the well-being of the entire Human species, because for all of its faults the Human race still produces many beautiful acts on a daily basis. For example, at the bank where I revealed myself, a teller was badly injured by one of the robbers’ weapons; he’s still in the hospital. But as I pulled him from the burning wreckage of his chair, a registered nurse in one of the other lines came up to help him, and a very kind woman made sure that matters were under control so that I could afford to leave and protect my civilian identity. People perform such acts of kindless and selflessness on a daily basis; in my civilian identity I volunteer for Habitat for Humanity, and every weekend I see dozens, often hundreds of people giving their time freely to help those disadvantaged by the unfeeling corruption of capitalist society.  
  
“How could I  _not_  want to protect this world? How could I  _not_  want to ensure that all people are free and equal, regardless of gender, ethnicity, religion, or culture? To fail to do so, to fail to fight for truth, justice, and socialist labor, would be to fail this entire, beautiful species. A flawed species, to be sure, but one capable of immense acts of kindness, justice, and good.”  
  
Kara realized that she was levitating almost two feet off of the ground, and settled back down gently. Kara tried to calm herself down, fearing that she’d blown the press conference with that surge of emotion… “In essence, Mr. Lefkowitz, I am a communist, and I love all people equally. Make of that what you will.”  
  
The applause from the spectators came as a bit of a shock.  
  
***  
  
_“Hell’s Gift-Shop” neighborhood, Metropolis. 10:30 PM, June 27th, 2015_.  
  
“Hey, Muhammad!”  
  
_Damn it_. Abd el-Selim ibn Omar ibn Faisal hunched his shoulders farther forwards under his hoodie, hoping that the four white men across the street from the bus stop would let him go with only a few more insults. He was only a high-schooler, 16 years old and scrawny, and they were each at least twice his size, and carried bottles of cheap beer, so he did the sensible thing and tried to avoid a fight.  
  
“Hey! Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!” It was the same speaker.  
  
“Mebbe little Abdul over there’s too stupid to speak American,” one of the other men chuckled. “C’mon, let’s go teach him!”  
  
“Don’t you ignore me, Muhammad!” The men were crossing the street. Abd el-Selim walked faster, but they broke into a trot. “C’mere, you little terrorist, show some respect to an American when he talks to you!”  
  
Abd el-Selim bolted, but the men were faster. He felt a hand grab his hoodie after barely ten yards, and he was yanked back with a shout of panic, his rear slamming into the pavement. “Don’t you run away from us, boy!” the loudest man yelled, breath reeking of cheap cigarettes and cheaper booze. “Fuckin’ raghead sand n*****s, ruining our country…when Pure Humanity takes over, you’ll be the first to get deported, boy!”  
  
“Please, leave me alone, I didn’t do anything to y…” A boot slammed down on Abd el-Selim’s forehead, and the back of his skull crashed into the pavement. He tasted blood with a groan.  
  
“Shuddup, boy! You’re a terrorist, your kind did enough! Hail Humanity!”  
  
“I think it’s about time you boys calmed down and went home.” The new voice, as well as Abd el-Selim could hear it through the pain, was female, hard, a firm alto that promised pain to back up the speaker’s words. “Leave the kid alone and beat it, now, before I decide to help him press charges.”  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” Loud Asshole growled.  
  
“Hey, careful, Leroy, that’s the vigilante they’ve been talking about, the Flamebird,” the one who had said something about ‘speaking American’ warned his friend. “She’s supposed to be tough.”  
  
“She’s still just human, ain’t she? I don’t see her flying or shooting lights out of her eyes!”  
  
“Oh, of course I’m Human,” the woman admitted, and Abd el-Selim, vision starting to clear as he pushed himself slowly backwards, could see a red and orange hooded cowl, night-black suit with a stylized red and orange bird on the chest, yellow boots with stylized flame motifs, and a black cape with a brilliant crimson-and-orange-and-yellow interior. “But so was Lady Death, and she had over four hundred confirmed kills by the time she was old enough to drink. There’s no such thing as ‘just’ Human.”  
  
“So?” Loud Asshole, known to his friends as Leroy, was still confident, the alcohol in his system giving him courage. “There’s only one of you, and four of us! Rush this dyke, boys!”  
  
Flamebird spun like lightning, grabbing Leroy’s haymaker and deflecting it easily as she grabbed the front of his beer-stained shirt and ducked beneath him, using his own momentum to fling him over herself and into the nearest wall. Leroy crashed into the bricks and collapsed to the ground upside-down.  
  
The second-biggest man went for Flamebird at the same time as the heaviest; she slipped around the former with his wrist in her iron grasp, rammed it up behind his back as he yelled in sudden pain, and threw him bodily into the latter. Goon #4 swore, then cut and ran; Flamebird pulled a gun-like device from her belt and fired. Goon #4 convulsed as an electric shock pulsed through his body from the Taser, and collapsed to the ground. The other two goons struggled to their feet as Leroy managed a faint moan, but Flamebird grabbed them by the heads and slammed them together.  
  
It was over before Abd el-Selim fully understood what was going on.  
  
The woman shocked Leroy with the Taser, causing him to jerk and then start drooling, and walked over to Abd el-Selim, offering him a hand. “You OK, kid?”  
  
“I…I’m OK.” He wiped a hand across his mouth—there was blood leaking from a split lip, and accepted the woman’s powerful hand up.  
  
“Yeah, you don’t look OK.” Flamebird grabbed Goon #4 and hauled him over to his buddies, quickly zip-tying them to a streetlamp. “You got a phone on you?”  
  
“It’s got 10% charge…”  
  
“That’s fine, just call 911 and say the Flamebird just beat up four drunk skinheads. They should be here in a couple of minutes.” She gently but firmly sat him down against a wall. Abd el-Selim obeyed, a little nervous now as Flamebird checked over his head. “You look alright for now,” she said as he hung up. “But I want you to get that cut cleaned up when you get home, alright?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Good. Now, we’ve got about two minutes. I wanted to ask you about some of the stuff you’ve been doing on the Internet.”  
  
Abd el-Selim stiffened. “I’m not going to those meetings anymore,” he protested. “They were talking about…about really bad stuff, I didn’t want to be a part of it.”  
  
“I know. Abd al-Basit al-Yemeni told me that you talked to him about that.” She lay a hand on his shoulder, gently. “Hey, I did a tour in Iraq, kid. I know how guys like Al Qaeda work—they go for kids who’re getting bullied, who just want to be accepted and treated the same as everyone else, give them an identity and a constant stream of propaganda. Mr. al-Yemeni told me that you told him that you got out of the loop?”  
  
Abd el-Selim nodded feverishly. “My friends were talking about this new group of the faithful that they were a part of on the Internet. Fighting back against…well, people like those men.” He pointed to the goons over Flamebird’s shoulder; she nodded in understanding. “My mom wants me to go to school, get a good job and all, but I don’t like it there; it’s just little stuff, people making terrorist jokes, girls warning each other to avoid people like me because we ‘want to make women wear veils’, my little sister getting told that she’s contributing to oppression by wearing a headscarf, and Mom doesn’t help her because she wants Aisha to  _stop_  wearing the headscarf because she’s worried that she won’t be able to get an American husband and…”  
  
“It’s OK, kid, I get it.” Flamebird leaned forward slightly, moving up onto the balls of her feet. “I want to know about the Internet group.”  
  
Abd el-Selim gulped. “They’re…they’re called the Black Hand. It started as just a regular thing, my friends and some other Muslim kids talking about being bullied. And there are a few older men, like college age and a bit older, who are the moderators and run the forum. But I realized after a month or two that they were saying some really bad things—one of the moderators was talking about killing ‘infidels’ being good and just and I mean, that just didn’t sound right, and I started looking at some of the older threads from before I joined the forum, and reading  _every_  thread—you know, when you’re on a busy forum you usually won’t read every thread—and I realized that they were getting more violent and more…well, radical over time.”  
  
“Trying to convince you that it was good to hate and be angry?” A siren sounded in the distance. “We’ve got a minute, kid, you can tell me quickly. I’ll keep you safe. Remember, Abd al-Basit al-Yemeni sent me to talk to you about this.”  
  
Abd el-Selim nodded again. “They hooked some of my friends,” he whispered. “It’s propaganda, it’s all propaganda, half the stuff they say is lies, but they repeat it so often that people start to  _believe_  it. And people  _want_  to believe it because they’re friendly and sympathize when you’re frustrated about people not understanding in school.”  
  
“Yep. They used the same trick in Iraq. Not as sophisticated, though. More just whipping up anger at the US occupation.” Flamebird took a glance over her shoulder. “I know you went to one of their real-life meetings, though. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t get you in trouble, but I need to know where that meeting was.”  
  
“They move the sites,” Abd el-Selim confessed. “But I got a dry-cleaning ticket that one of them dropped. I know his address.”  
  
Flamebird smiled and patted his shoulder. “Smart. You made a good decision getting back on the straight and narrow, kid. You still got that ticket?”  
  
“Not on me, I hid it in my closet back home…”  
  
“Ok, once the police take your statement I’ll walk you back and you can show me.” A MPD car rounded the corner and pulled to halt. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this, just stick around so the cops can get your statement.”  
  
Abd el-Selim nodded. A man got out of the car—a towering, bald black man the same approximate size and shape as a refrigerator, wearing a Sergeant’s stripes. His nameplate read “Irons”.  
  
“Flamebird,” the man-mountain rumbled, a deep, powerful baritone with a heavy Ebonic accent. “What d’you have?”  
  
“Evening, John. Four drunk idiots, attempted aggravated assault, motivated by bigotry. This kid here’s the victim. How’s Natasha?”  
  
Irons grimaced. “That girl, she just tinkerin’ all day with her wheelchair. I keep tryin’ to get her out, get her around town to live a little, but she just wants t’tinker with that wheelchair. I’m thinkin’, I need to take her to a shrink soon, she ain’t been right since she came back from Afghanistan.” He looked over the goons, and grunted as he pulled out his pen and notepad. “I know this idiot. Leroy Palmer, third drunk and disorderly this month, ever since he lost his job last year. Guess ol’Leroy finally decided the drunk tank weren’t enough for him.” He looked back over to Flamebird. “This kid OK with comin’ down to the station?”  
  
“As long as she comes too,” Abd el-Selim said hurriedly.  
  
“Yeah, he’s fine. It’s OK, kid, I have to give a statement every time.” She turned back to Irons. “You want me to help throw these goons in the back?”  
  
“Nah, I got it.” Irons pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. “Dispatch, this is 4-1-3, I need backup for transport at 55th and Murphy.” He nodded to Abd el-Selim. “Don’ worry, kid, it’s gonna be fine. You need to call your momma?”  
  
“Uh…yeah, yeah I should…”  
  
“Do that, then, just don’ wander off, we still need th’ statement.”  
  
Flamebird was true to her word. Three hours later Abd el-Selim was being fussed over by his mother, having received a pat on the back and summary thanks for his statement from the police, his sister was badgering the superheroine about her life as she politely ate the leftovers that Abd el-Selim’s mom had insisted that the superheroine have, and the dry-cleaning ticket was safely out of his hands.  
  
Hopefully he’d never hear of the Black Hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Social justice rant inbound. 
> 
> The thing about fascists and terrorists like DAESH and al Qaeda is, they prey on the weak. I'm specifically calling this out here with Abd el-Selim and Leroy--both of them are perfect victims for fascist or terrorist seduction. 
> 
> Leroy is a middle-aged man, five-ten years from retirement, who now has nothing. He was a good, honest working man who went to his manufacturing-plant job, worked hard, took pride in his work and his health and bragged about how he took maybe five sick days in his whole career. He didn't save his money, but then he really didn't get paid more than what he needed to live a satisfying, if distinctly lower-class, life. He was a working man like his dad, and his dad before him--and then his company outsourced his job and thousands of others to another country with lax labor laws where people have to work for shitty pay, and he burned through his meagre savings in a week. He'd never needed anything more than basic high-school education, nobody did in manufacturing, but now he's in a world where even a shitty job that pays $30k/year for answering phones for angry assholes requires a college degree. So he's stuck drifting, living hand-to-mouth on miserable temp jobs that he can't feel any pride in, those jobs were always for failures whose dads were ashamed of them, so he starts getting drunk to self-medicate. He throws a fit while drunk off his ass and is thrown in the drunk tank to cool off by the MPD; that pisses him off. He's humiliated and ashamed; he's a hard-working American man, not a criminal, his dad would tan his hide if he ever thought of stealing or becoming a criminal like these druggies and bastards all around him. So he goes out and it gets worse, because he doesn't have anything other than cheap beer to drown his sorrows with. He gets thrown in again, and now he's really frustrated, because this isn't his fault, he did everything he was supposed to do and lived his life the way his dad told him would get him rewarded, it's got to be someone else's fault--and then he hears on a radio about how illegal immigrants are taking jobs, and that makes sense, it's gotta be all those poor foreigners getting into the country, and those terrorists who speak that funny language and that we've been fighting for years. One thing leads to another and he goes to meet some people who say they believe that the Mexicans and Muslims have to go. They treat him nicely, tell him that he's right, confirm every suspicion that he had about how he lost his job, tell him that it's not just OK to be angry, but that it's good to be angry, these people are evil, he needs to help stop them, it's good to hate, don't listen to that voice inside you Leroy, compassion is weakness, you're a strong man, right? "Here, Leroy, look at these articles and charts, they look real professional don't they? Straight from BiteBark, the only news source that isn't lying to you. These people are statistically more likely to be evil subhuman mongrels that are destroying America. We can count on you at our next rally, right?" 
> 
> And so on.
> 
> Meanwhile the kid's got a similar problem. People make jokes about him, treat him like shit, treat his sister like shit, his mom isn't any help because she's working two jobs to keep them afloat after Dad died and she wants his sister to marry well (and therefore to be as American as possible), and no matter how much he tries to fit in people always eventually throw in a reference to his faith or heritage, so he goes looking for somewhere where they welcome him. The Black Hand are nice to him, they do the same damn thing as the fascists do to Leroy, and Abd el-Selim is vulnerable for basically the same reasons. He's lucky that he's younger, is questioning the world more, and is smarter than most of his friends, but even then they almost get him. He's also lucky that when he goes to his local mullah the guy realizes what's going on, goes "OH SHIT!", and calls the local superhero publicity agency to get a hand.
> 
> The thing is, fascism and ISIS crap offer the same opium; a simple answer, a black-and-white world where you are good, other people are evil, giving in to your darker instincts is not only OK but right, that you should fear others, and that in your fear you should give in to your most dark, sadistic urges, because those urges, the fascists say, are good and right and you need to punish those dirty people who are different from you, they're evil and you fear them and you need to be strong to respond to that fear, and compassion is weakness because it puts you at risk, and you can't let your weakness stop you from doing what's right and stopping those evil people, those mindless creatures that are the demons of this simple world, because you are the hero, and you can do no wrong because you are right.
> 
> It's mental poison, and they use it to drug and feed on people. ISIS, the Nazis; it's all the same bullshit.


	2. The Herald, The Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 by theg*ddam*hoi2fan on alternatehistory.com. 
> 
> More worldbuilding this chapter--some things change, some don't.

**Rest-stop off Highway Twelve, twenty miles south of Jump City, 01:30**  
  
He saw them, standing in the lee of the building out of the rain. With a quick, decisive motion, he pulled the car over and parked it, opening the door and letting the rain wash across the wide brim of his hat.  
  
“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding once. He noted how they shrank back from the mask beneath his hat, all save the leader.  
  
“Greetings, sir. Your…ah, reputation precedes you.”  
  
“As does that of your organisation.” As he spoke, he sized the man up: Arab; Libyan, by the looks of him, though probably on a different passport – the British invasion of Libya had ended the days of the former regime supporting international terrorism, and they’d actually managed to install a halfway stable government, but it had led to ex-regime personnel drifting into certain groups – and clearly a fundamentalist. That much was clear from his carefully Westernised appearance.  _He probably makes sure people see him drinking and smoking regularly – and has at least a few different girlfriends._ For the true believers, the leaders, sins were perfectly allowed as long as they were part of their cover.  
  
He felt his lip curl beneath the mask. He despised their objectives just as much as those of the regimes against which they fought, but they were useful. “You’ve confirmed it?” he asked, voice echoing beneath the mask.  
  
Their leader nodded. “Yes. He’s being brought to the hospital even now. They estimate he’ll be there for at least a week.”  
  
“Very good.” He grunted with satisfaction. “A single target, static for a whole week… Our deal is as we agreed?”  
  
“You breach the security and kill the target, we provide one or two bodies and take the credit.” Their leader grinned wolfishly. “We’ll be happy to take the credit for killing a Zionist, though…why do you want us to?”  
  
“My employers have their reasons.”  _As do I. The conflagration that will rise from this will sate Ares… and will be one more step towards the fall of Order._  
  
Beneath his mask, Lonnie Machin smiled coldly.  
  
* * *  
  
**Savage National Park, 01:45**  
  
Kate Kane woke up abruptly, feeling a familiar ‘tugging’ sensation. As she looked, she saw the crystal ‘candlestick’ on her bedside table flashing blue, and she moved to sit up.  
  
Then she tried again. And again. Then sighed softly, a small smile playing on her lips. Harley was deeply asleep, and had wrapped arms and legs around Kate in a death grip, head pressed into Kate’s back.  
  
Kate rocked slightly. “Harley? Babe? I need to be able to move a bit, I’m getting called.”  
  
“Rrrrrrrrr,” was the only response, along with a tightening of Harley’s grip.  
  
There was only one thing for it. Sighing, Kate inched across the bed, pulling Harley with her like a limpet, then gingerly craned her arm out and grabbed the candlestick and pulled it back to the bed with her.  
  
No sooner did she have it in her hands than light was shining out of it, shining into the air and forming a circle of light in the air. In the middle of the circle, Kate saw a familiar face: a stately woman wearing a white robe, blonde hair crowned with a silver tiara.  
  
“My Lady.” Kate bowed her head.  
  
“My champion.” Queen Hippolyta eyed Kate sternly. “Tell me…Am I to expect that you will always greet your Queen in this fashion? Stark naked, with your lover clinging to you like a python?”  
  
Kate blushed. “I’m…ah, the victim of unforeseen circumstances, my Lady.”  
  
“Indeed.” The voice remained stern, though Kate thought she saw a smile on the Queen’s lips. “Have you tried tickling her? That usually works, in my experience.”  
  
“Not here, I’m afraid.”  
  
“I see.” Hippolyta cleared her throat. “Anyway…we have other matters to discuss. Well:  _one_ matter.” She leant forward. “The seers have been dreaming: a weapon of Ares has been awoken.”  
  
Kate’s brow furrowed. She remembered learning about the various pieces of weaponry that Ares had created over the centuries: like the Amazons’ purple ray and other such artifacts, his weapons had been bizarre, unfathomable technological - or maybe magical - instruments, outstripping current human science by a considerable margin. “Do they know what it is?”  
  
“Alas, that much they haven’t pinpointed. However, they know that it’s on your landmass…and that it moves closer to you.”  
  
Kate nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll carry out the ritual tomorrow, see if I can narrow things down a little. Hopefully, it’ll come to me rather than my having to search it down – the United States is far too big for someone to play hunter.”  
  
“Not big enough, I imagine. Not when Ares works his havoc.” Hippolyta looked carefully at Kate. “Though either way, I know you’ll find it. Once you do…defeat the one who wields it, then destroy the weapon itself.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And Kate?” Hippolyta’s stern mask slipped a little. “Good luck.”  
  
There was a flash, and the image disappeared. Putting down the crystal, Kate pulled the heavy blanket back up over herself and Harley, listening to the heavy rain pouring down on the roof.  
  
Tomorrow, she knew, they’d both have a lot to do. They’d have to find this new threat, stop it, whoever or whatever it was. But right now…right now, they could shut out the world for a while.  
  
* * *  
  
Harley frowned, picking at her food. “Do ya  _haveta_ go with the ritual, Red? It takes a lot out of you.”  
  
Kate chewed carefully on the mouthful of waffle and strawberries before answering. “I do, unfortunately. It’s an annoyance, but it  _does_ help narrow down where these damn things are.”  
  
“I know, I know, just…” Harley put her own plate aside, then squeezed Kate gently in lieu of saying anything else.  
  
Kate grinned. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. And besides: that’ll be one more thing to hold  _against_ whatever agent of Ares is using this thing.”  
  
Harley laughed evilly at that. “Damn straight! Get yourself good and angry to  _pummel_ ‘im into the ground!”  
  
She opened a pack of bubblegum and popped it into her mouth, beginning chewing as a kind of exclamation point. Kate shook her head. “I still can’t believe you chew bubblegum before midday.”  
  
“I chew bubblegum any time, Red. It doesn’t have alcohol in it or anything.”  
  
Kate laughed. “You’re  _impossible,_ you know that?”  
  
“Yeah, but you love me anyway, don’t ya?”  
  
* * *  
  
It was about an hour later, and Kate was sitting cross-legged on the floor. A small incense-stand stood in front of her, as did a silver dish, carved intricately with lines that combined art with the appearance of mechanical circuitry. She carefully placed a steak on the dish, then poured a small amount of wine over it. Then, finally, she lifted the dagger and nicked her little finger, allowing three drops of blood to fall on the meat and wine. “Gods of the old world, hear my prayer,” she intoned softly. “Let the scales fall from my eyes, let me be enlightened as the oracles were…”  
  
No sooner had she finished, than the carvings on the dish lit up, and her view changed. No longer was she sitting in the cabin. Now, she stood in the midst of a grey, thick fog, her feet on a road that snaked into the fog.  
  
She shivered. She could hear the voices from inside the fog: shrill, harsh voices, reminding her of the wrongs she’d done in her life.  
  
_Don’t listen to them. Just follow the road. Don’t step to the side._  
  
Slowly, she walked forward, feeling for the hard surface of the road with her feet, then gradually following with the rest of her body.  
  
The voices grew louder.  _Those three men you shot, who you thought were terrorists. Do you know who they truly were?_ one jeered.  
  
_Keep following the road…_ she told herself. The fog was still there, but she thought she could see a light ahead.  
  
_When you were discharged_ another voice rasped,  _what did you truly achieve? You leeched from your parents’ money to satisfy your own greed and vanity._  
  
She knew she shouldn’t engage with them, but… “I know. I know I was a waster. But I’m making things better. I’m doing something worthwhile.”  
  
_Really? By letting your father think you’re dead? By leaving your sister alone in the world?_  
  
The words hurt, hurt worse than a scourge or a rod. She knew why she’d done that – that it was safer for her family, if she let ‘Kate Kane’ die officially and lived only as Athene. But she wished she didn’t have to…  
  
She looked ahead. The light was growing brighter. All she had to do was keep walking.  
  
Another voice sounded.  _Do you truly love anyone? How easily did you let your family go when you took up your great mission? And how many lovers did you seek solace with after your discharge? How many broken hearts did you leave behind you?_  
  
That last was almost enough to make her stumble. After her discharge, she’d lived fast and loose and wild, thinking only of her own enjoyment and numbing the pain.  _Gods… How many did I really hurt?_  
  
With an effort, she kept walking. “I admit it. But…” She paused, then smiled. “Now I have a mission, now I have a cause, and now I have someone who I love and who I’ll always work to make happy.”  
  
Suddenly, the fog was boiling back, and she saw the light. For a second, she saw a golden figure, wielding a bow, then suddenly her vision shifted again.  
  
She saw a rest stop, a rest stop in the rain, just beside a sign for Highway 12 and the exit for Jump City. A car had pulled up, and a figure in a trenchcoat and wide-brimmed hat was talking to a small cluster of men. She frowned as she peered closely.  _The one at their head looks familiar._ She began taking careful mental note of his features, in preparation for describing to Johnny later.  
  
Then they were getting into the car, along with the figure in the coat. And then, suddenly, she heard it: the sound of swords clashing, of men roaring pain and defiance, of people shrieking as a city was overrun.  
  
_The paean of Ares._  
  
As the car pulled away, she nodded once to herself.  _He’s here. And he’s coming straight to Jump City…with friends._

  
**Malebranche District, 13:00**  
  
  
Athene had to hide a laugh as she saw Green Arrow staring at Johnny’s apartment. Then at Johnny himself, wearing a grey hoody with bits of instant ramen dried on the front. Then back at the clean, almost sterile neatness of the apartment.  
  
Eventually, he shook his head and turned back to Johnny’s computer screen, watching as it whirled through picture after picture, comparing it to Kate’s Identikit recollection of one of the men she’d seen in her vision. “What’re you linked to – FBI database?” he asked.  
  
“A-and CIA, NSA, Homeland Security, and about half-a-dozen foreign intelligence services.”  
  
Next to Johnny, Eris laughed. “Johnny here’s the Ali of hacking – floats like a butterfly, stings like a  _hornet._ ”  
  
“He’d better,” Oracle observed. “If he ever got caught…”  
  
“I’m mentally incompetent and I was led astray,” Johnny said in a sing-song voice. He smiled shyly. “Th-that’s what Dr Quinzel said. She said if I’m ever, ever caught, I’m to act dumb and say I was made do it.”  
  
Eris shrugged. “Any decent shrink could tell he’s…” she let her voice trail off. “Between that and an assessment that I wrote back when I was boring, he’d never be made stand trial.”  
  
“You think the intelligence community would play by the rules?” Green Arrow asked pointedly.  
  
Eris considered him. “Best watch out, pal,” she said. “Someone as driven as you, odds are you’ll end up all old an’ alone, an’ you’ll have to train some punk kid to be Green Arrow after you. An’ then your worst enemy’ll possess someone and come back, and it’ll be the punk kid who finally beats him and not you.”  
  
Athene  _did_ laugh this time. Like many of her girl’s comments, it seemed to make no sense, and yet it was a perfectly stinging put-down.  
  
Green Arrow was trying to formulate a reply, while Oracle and Green Lantern were just looking confused, when Johnny turned. “Got him! Here!”  
  
As one, the heroes flocked over. Athene peered over Johnny’s shoulder, eyes fixed on the picture. “That’s him – he was fatter-looking in the vision I saw, but that’s him.” She paused. “That’s not the CIA… that’s MI6. British intelligence.” Her eyes narrowed as she read. “Abdul Deghayes. Libyan, former regime personnel prior to the British intervention of 2005. Following the intervention, became affiliated with the Black Flag jihadist organisation. He was responsible for several attacks on British personnel in Libya between 2006 and 2007, including a major failed attack on RAF Benghazi in early 2007…believed to have fled the country when Black Flag fell apart after their leader got captured by the British. Since then he seems to have drifted from group to group.”  
  
Green Lantern also looked, brow furrowed above his mask. “Hold on…there, that name: the British officer who led the defence of RAF Benghazi against the attack.”  
  
Athene read it carefully. “Major Alfred Pennyworth, Special Air Service….”  
  
Before she could finish, Johnny was opening another tab, hands flying at the speed of light. “Pennyworth, Alfred. 48 years old, now a Colonel. Born in Hong Kong, saw action in the Middle East and Asia…”  
  
Athene blinked as the huge list of classified operations scrolled across. So many… “Wait. Did that…did that just say he saved the Sultan of Brunei from being mauled by a lion?”  
  
Eris nodded. “Seemed to, Red.”  
  
“Well…no wonder they’re still a British protectorate. That’s gotta be a solid argument for keeping them around to defend your country.”  
  
Green Lantern had his smartphone out, fingers tapping. After a moment, he looked up in triumph. “I  _thought_ that name sounded familiar. He’s one of a panel of international Special Forces officers who’re heading up a security conference in Washington. Highly classified, primarily dealing with mutual border security arrangements...”  
  
“And on your smartphone.  _Very_ secure,” Athene finished.  
  
Green Lantern bridled. “It’s a secure phone, specifically designed for confidential communications.”  
  
Eris laughed. “Wanna bet Johnny couldn’t hack it in ten seconds flat?”  
  
“Don’t you dare!”  
  
Green Arrow stepped in before things could escalate further. “Why do you bring him up, John?”  
  
“Well: the first thing to do in any battle is gain intelligence about the enemy,” Green Lantern said, with what to Athene felt like a superior smirk. “And given that Colonel Pennyworth confronted the enemy directly, I’d say he’d be an ideal person to contact to gain that intelligence.”  
  
Athene looked at him. “So…what? You want to call him up and say ‘Hi, we’re superheroes and we think we can catch a terrorist you’ve been after for years?’ Assuming he doesn’t die laughing, how long do you think it’ll be before we’re on the run?”  
  
The green-masked man looked even more smug. “Oh, I think I can manage it.”  
  
* * *  
  
**British Embassy, Washington D.C., 17:00**  
  
Colonel Alfred Pennyworth, Special Air Service, stretched out luxuriantly. Things had thankfully ended on time today, meaning that he had at least a while to himself before some other damn thing arrived to claim his attention.  
  
He had to admit, the guest rooms in the Embassy were quite pleasant. Certainly an improvement on the various places he’d been before he made the jump from enlisted man to officer. Even if the carpet was a rather unfortunate shade of purple…  
  
He sighed as he heard his scrambler phone ringing.  _Nothing lasts forever, does it?_ He picked it up. “Longsword, go.”  
  
“Colonel Pennyworth?” The voice on the other end was heavily distorted, but he was nearly sure it was American.  
  
_Bloody hell, don’t they even get ‘no names’?_ “Identify yourself,” he said, injecting a little ice into his voice.  
  
“Loki.”  
  
_That_ got his attention. That particular code-word denoted an  _extremely_ black operative working for a NATO country. “Noted. What’s this about?” As he spoke, he fumbled his pager out and tapped in a single word.  
  
“Abdul Deghayes. What can you tell me?”  
  
Alfred paused. “Ally or not, I can’t speak about ongoing operations without clearance.”  
  
“Would it surprise you to learn he may be in the Continental United States?”  
  
_Somewhat, though knowing him I suppose it was inevitable._ “Have you confirmed?”  
  
“No, but we have a reliable source.”  
  
“I see. Well, as I say, I can’t discuss ongoing operations…”  
  
“I understand. But can you reveal anything about the man himself?”  
  
_Hmmm. Well, that’s not going to do any damage…_ “Well...nothing that might be of practical use. His family are in exile in Saudi Arabia, and he’s made no moves to contact them, so he doesn’t have any personal connections. And he tends to flit from movement to movement, so I couldn’t speculate on his connections in-country. But I could help on the psychological side.”  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“Well…” Alfred found himself warming to the theme. “Deghayes is a man who has a propensity towards high-profile targets, and particularly public attacks. Like the Benghazi attack – it was a full-frontal attack involving over two hundred hostiles and a number of vehicles, chosen to coincide with the posting of a dozen Vengeance bombers to the base.” And the assets for whom the bombers – important though they were – had simply been a cover, but he wasn’t going to mention  _that._ “Or his attack on King Khalid Military City in Saudi. Two princes and the US ambassador dead.” Alfred paused. “Of course…the other thing about our Abdul is, he’s not a very subtle man. Which is quite the failing in a terrorist. The Benghazi operation, for instance…only thirty of his men survived the attack, for minimal losses on our side. All because he went for a frontal assault, when most terrorists would try to conserve assets and maximise minimal resources.”  
  
There was a pause. “So…a high-profile target, and less likely to take a subtle approach. That’s helpful. Can you think of anything else?”  
  
“Just one. He absorbed a lot of the old regime’s propaganda, especially the anti-Semitic side of things. He’s attacked more than a few Jewish targets over the years.”  
  
“Understood. Thank you, Colonel.”  
  
The line went dead. Alfred sighed.  _Probably thought he was being damn-clever and mysterious._ “Sar’nt-Major!” he called.  
  
The door opened, and Sergeant-Major Finley, one of the men who’d accompanied Alfred over from Britain, walked in. “Sir?” he asked, saluting smartly.  
  
“Any joy with the trace?”  
  
“Yes, sir. His phone probably would have confused Yank or European systems, but that new gadget we’ve got had him in seconds. Jump City.”  
  
“Right.” Alfred nodded to himself. Jump City plus the mysterious approach probably meant those costumed types who’d been cropping up like a rash lately – including the young blonde lady who’d just appeared in Metropolis – though how one had the Loki code-word he didn’t know.  _Maybe a sanctioned operative? Or just someone with a voice on the inside._ He was inclined to believe the latter – it all seemed a bit amateurish, even for American intelligence.  
  
“What now, sir? Do we tell our hosts about this?”  
  
“Oh, no, Sar’nt-Major. No we bloody well do not.” Alfred smiled coldly. “If I’m right, this is a solo op by these people. That means no involvement from law enforcement on the ground. Which means…if we get someone there, we’ve a perfect opportunity to grab Abdul for ourselves. And while he’s a bloody incompetent when it comes to masterminding attacks, the contacts he’s made make him an intelligence goldmine. I want him, and the PM wants him. And we’ll get him,  _not_ the cousins.”  
  
“So you want me and the boys over there, sir?”  
  
Alfred considered. “I think not,” he said at length. “No, this is a case of ‘when in Rome’, I think. And Jump City seems to be a hub for these costumed types, so…” He paused, considering.  
  
_This new ‘Power Woman’ who’s appeared on the scene…_ Early projections showed that she was far and away superior to any other super-powered human known to man. And she was on American soil. If Britain was to remain a great power, she needed to ensure that her own pool of super-powered talent remained on a par with their main ally and rival.  _Especially_ since Six had a fairly good idea of just who Power Woman was, and where she'd come from. While American intelligence was loud, flashy and often had great, gaping holes, HM Government's intel-gathering tended to be much more subtle, often sordid...and have a much more complete picture of events. As in this case.  _She might decide to remain in America...or she might decide that the call of Mother Russia is too great to ignore and return to them._ Russians were, after all, notorious for deciding that while they didn't like the  _government,_ their loyalty to the  _country_ trumped all. Either way, but especially with the latter, Britain needed to get countermeasures ready.  
  
Which meant that they needed to test their newest weapons and soldiers thoroughly. At length, he nodded. “Get Captain McIntyre and Lieutenant Sheldrake. Tell them…tell them this is a job for Knight and Squire.”

 **Internet Café, Martin Luther King Jr Boulevard, Jump City, 11:00**  
  
Kate sighed. It had been a solid day since they’d got the intelligence on the one member of the group she’d seen, and since then they’d been chasing their tails doing a great deal of research. And…nothing.  
  
Or rather, too many slight possibilities. There was Jump City’s main synagogue, run by a particularly educated, particularly liberal rabbi who’d written many scholarly papers on Judaism in the modern era. There was the Holocaust Memorial located next to it, paid for by a number of the city’s leading Jewish citizens shortly after the end of the war. There were multiple city Councilmen and women of the Jewish faith, several high-ranking police officers, some highly-paid lawyers, several Israel lobbyists, a chain of Jewish bakeries…  
  
“None of these work,” she said eventually. “There’s plenty of high-profile Jewish people in the city, but nothing that’d justify something like this. Well, not unless he really hates matzo.”  
  
“Why the  _hell_ are all the news sites goin’ on and on about this ‘Power Woman’ bimbo?” Harley was sucking a lollipop as she peered at her computer, a fierce expression on her face.  
  
Kate chuckled slightly, but continued. “I mean, granted, he could want to attack quite a few people, maybe some kind of event?”  
  
“We’ve saved the city from goddamn terrorist lunatics! She stops one bank robbery - in  _Metropolis,_ one of the most boring cities in the country - an’ everyone wants ta marry her.” Harley was glaring even more fiercely.  
  
“But what? The Memorial isn’t holding anything major.”  
  
“I know. Wrong time of year.”  
  
“How…oh, right.” Kate sometimes forgot Harley was actually Jewish. Entirely unobservant, of course - even less than Kate, if that was possible - but she still didn’t eat pork or shellfish for all that. “OK, but…then what? There aren’t any major festivals coming up where they’d all be together, there aren’t…”  
  
“An’ these comments! Like…this troll, he says that she’s the first good-lookin’ female superhero he’s ever seen – says she’s a real woman, an’ the rest of us are all dykes with boy tits.” Harley sounded utterly disgusted.  
  
Kate decided she had to interject. “One: he’s a troll. Two…we  _are_ dykes. Massive ones. It’s kinda why we get on so well, Harley-girl.”  
  
“That word's either horribly insulting or really empowering, but point taken. But not  _all_ women heroes are! An’ as for the other part…” Harley looked down at herself. “Last time I checked, D-Cups ain’t small.”  
  
Kate paused. Knowing Harley like she did, injecting a compliment in here was vital. “Definitely not,” she said, leaning over and lowering her voice to a more smoky, seductive range. “And whatever some idiot out there might say…you know I appreciate you and...well, everything about you, right?”  
  
The two of them had been conversing in undertones, so they hadn’t attracted any attention, but kiss with which Harley greeted that pronouncement made a few heads in the café turn. Kate didn’t care. It wasn’t like either of them needed to fear negative reactions, anyway.  
  
Eventually, she returned to her computer. “So anyway, I honestly can’t think of any potential targets…” she began in a low murmur.  
  
“The Israeli Ambassador’ll be in town.”  
  
“…or any…wait,  _what?_ ”  
  
Harley turned her computer screen. “See, Red, while I dropped off the face of the map after things got, well, exciting, I kept one of my ol’ medical messageboards open. Just in case. A’course, I don’t use my real name on it, and I only ever log on from somewhere public, buuuuut…I do know who some of the people on it are, in real life. This guy, scalpel747, is a cardiac surgeon at Jump City Central. An’ he PMed me, tellin’ me that he’s got a major VIP patient tomorrow. So I texted Johnny, asked him to hack Central’s records, see who that might be, and after goin’ through a bunch of cover IDs, stuff like that, he found that it’d be the Ambassador.” Harleen punched up some more information. “An’ it just so happens that this is happening during another round of talks between the Israelis and Palestinians over who owns what piece of desert.”  
  
Kate swallowed. “If the Israeli ambassador got killed by fundamentalists…”  
  
“Yep. Instant lighter fluid, all over a map of Palestine.”  
  
“That’s it. Harley-girl, you’re a genius.”  
  
Harley giggled as Kate hugged her hard. “Well,  _someone’s_ gotta have their head screwed on right around here.”  
  
Kate paused, thinking. “This, though…this thing’s big. Should we maybe tip off the police, rather than…”  
  
“Red, Red, Red…are any cops gonna be able to stop whatever it is Ares made?”  
  
Kate frowned. “Not a chance,” she said eventually. “Not without heavy weapons, and that could get too many people caught in the crossfire.”  
  
“So that leaves you. An’ us.” Harley grinned sassily. “You got your super-strength and armour; tight-ass has his weird ring; Robin Hood has his trick arrows; Barbie’s really been comin’ on nicely with better fighting skills…and I got the screaming, shouting and mayhem.”  
  
“Well then, I guess we’re sorted.”  
  
  
* * *  
  
**Starlite Motel, Exit 12, 12:00**  
  
Lieutenant Henry Sheldrake, Her Majesty’s SAS, looked up from his computer. “The Israeli Ambassador’s having major heart surgery in the Central Hospital here tomorrow,” he reported, frowning thoughtfully. “That’s the most likely target, based on what we know of the main target’s MO.”  
  
Captain Beryl Mcintyre nodded thoughtfully. “Most likely. And if we’ve figured that out, it likely means that the ones who called Colonel Pennyworth did too.”  
  
“So we’ll have amateurs horning in on our mission?” Sheldrake sighed. “Bloody hellfire.”  
  
“Not entirely amateurs. And not entirely useless, either. I’d say that we’ll definitely be seeing that Greek woman, the one who kicked the Nazi all around iTube.” Beryl chuckled at the memory. “She’s bloody strong, and she’s had at least some military training. Nothing on a par with us, of course, but the basics at least.”  
  
“Would she be a match for your suit?”  
  
Beryl considered. She really didn’t know… The Knight Suit was tough, the product of decades of Project PROSPERO’s finest research, but ultimately it was knowable. The result of study and gradual reverse-engineering of technology taken from the ship that had crashed in the Firth of Forth, just after World War II… Alien, yes, highly advanced, yes, but knowable. Whatever had changed this woman, or created her, was unknowable.  
  
“Maybe,” she said at length. “But it’s not just the suit, it’s the wearer. And I’m SAS. No force the Americans have created even comes  _close_ to us.”  
  
Henry laughed at that. “True. And their intelligence comes up short as well – they never figured out that we kept back half of PROSPERO.”  
  
That much was true. It had been Henry’s grandfather who’d overseen the initial PROSPERO programme, and its bifurcation: the ‘public’ part, known only to the UK and US governments, where the UK had shared access to the ship - well most of it - that began the project in return for debt forgiveness, additional cash infusions, and America remaining silent as to Britain's rate of decolonization and the basing agreements they made with certain former colonies; and the part known only to a select few within HM government, the superhuman development programme. A programme that the SAS had been intimately involved in since 1949, and that had been kept deadly secret from every other nation on the planet.  
  
The thought made Beryl muse a bit.  _PROSPERO let Britain retain some strength. Sharing with the Yanks let us rebuild after the war and keep a global reach; horse-trading with the Chinese over a few things we figured out long ago let us extend the Hong Kong arrangement until 2097; and the superhuman side of things came in very handy at times…_ Like every SAS recruit, she’d read about the early prototypes, the men – and women – who’d volunteered for PROSPERO. Most of them hadn’t been  _that_ high-powered, just a bit stronger, a bit faster, a bit harder to kill…but all of them had been heroes. Even if no-one else in Britain knew their names, the SAS had their records, records of a thousand secret missions from the Malay Peninsula to Burma to Rhodesia.  
  
_I hope I can live up to them. And I hope that, as Knight, I can do my part to keep Britain strong._  
  
Shaking her head, she turned back to the matter at hand. “Right. So…we’ll work out an entry, and an exit. Colonel Pennyworth has transport out of the city arranged, and transport beyond that to RN Brunei, so we just have to make sure we have our way out of the building planned.”  
  
“Right. Just one thing before that: how hard do we go in?”  
  
Beryl smiled coldly. “Simple. We bring Abdul in alive, slot the rest of his team. Think you can handle that, Squire?”  
  
Henry’s own smile was equally cold, as his eyes flashed red and the blades extended from his forearms. “Who Dares Wins, Knight.”

 **Jump City Central Hospital, Underground Parking Garage, 10:30**  
  
Lonnie eyed his watch. “The Ambassador’ll be under anaesthetic now,” he said. “They’ll be beginning in the next few minutes. We’ll wait until they have him well open – that way, they can’t evacuate him easily.”  
  
Deghayes shrugged. “As long as we move in soon, whatever you say.”  
  
Lonnie sighed.  _Older than me, and he’s got no subtlety to him._ Granted, that was why he’d approached Deghayes rather than any of the other various terrorist groups who would’ve gladly attacked such a high-profile target – most of them were too smart to sign up to an obviously foolhardy approach like this – but it still grated.  
  
“Right then,” he said out loud, opening a Samsonite suitcase. “You’ll each take one of these.” ‘These’ were a dozen syringes, filled with a silvery fluid. “They’ll boost your strength and speed considerably. Between these and your guns, you’ll power through their guards. Easily.”  
  
Most of the men nodded eagerly, but Deghayes frowned. “Use pagan witchery to fight Allah’s battles?” he asked sourly.  
  
Lonnie fought the urge to roll his eyes.  _It’s not like you gave a good goddamn for religion when you were in the old Libyan regime’s service._ Quite the reverse, by all accounts – the parties he’d given when he was a senior officer had been legendary. But after his old employer had been toppled and sent off to the Hague, Deghayes had found religion, somehow. “Do you think Allah will care, if you strike a powerful blow against the Zionist infidels?” he asked.  
  
Deghayes’ frown deepened, but eventually he took one of the syringes and jabbed it into his arm. As the others followed suit, Lonnie threw off his coat and hat, revealing his mask and armour. He grinned beneath the mask.  
  
_Just a little longer. Then Ares will have his war…and I’ll have chaos. And once the destabilisation happens, anarchy will rise. It’s inevitable. And even if these idiots survive…with any luck, the Titan’s Blood will kill them._ It usually took several doses - several highly addictive doses – but sometimes just the one was enough.  
  
While he used them as catspaws, Lonnie was just as contemptuous of their ideology as he was of capitalism. More so, in some ways, given how they clung to religion. But…they were useful. For now.  
  
* * *  
  
Braced against the outer wall of the hospital, outside a window into the cardiac ward, Athene waited. “Anything?” she hissed into her radio.  
  
“Nothing yet.” Green Arrow was inside the main entrance to the ward, mopping a floor under a very convincing-looking ID, his bow hidden inside a somewhat thick mop handle. “The Ambassador’s security goons are all over here, though.”  
  
“Same here.” Oracle, Athene had to admit, made a pretty cute candy striper, even if there was a worry about someone ordering her away from the lift-well.  
  
Green Lantern chimed in, from his position in the security room. “Cameras for the main entry and exit ways are clear, though I’m not getting a full picture of the parking areas. Something about the layout – blind spots everywhere…”  
  
“Nobody’s comin’ up the fire escape.” That was Eris, and…Athene frowned. There seemed to be a loud banging in the background.  
  
“What’s that sound?”  
  
“Huh? Oh, ah…well, the room started out bein’ empty, like we thought, but…well, the Ambassador’s secretary came in. An’…she didn’t like my fake ID.”  
  
Athene closed her eyes. “So what happened?”  
  
“Well, she tried to run, so…I…kinda had to tackle her. An’ after that, it wasn’t gonna be easy to make her think we were the good guys. An’ you said we needed to keep civilians safe, anyway. So, I…I had to lock her in the closet.” Eris paused. “Didn’t really have any other option,” she added brightly. “An’ really, it was the responsible decision.” She paused again as an especially loud crash echoed through the radio. “Geez, she’s not easily intimidated. I’d’a thought she’d be much more quiet about the whole thing.”  
  
Athene sighed deeply. “Try to quieten her down, for the gods’ sakes. If anyone else hears…”  
  
A second later, there was a loud roar, followed by the roar of gunfire. “Report!” Athene barked.  
  
“They’re through!” Green Arrow barked. “Twelve men, and…a man with a bull’s head?”  
  
Athene didn’t waste any more time. “Converge on the entry lobby, everyone! Don’t let them clear it!”  
  
* * *  
  
Lonnie – the Brazen Bull – roared as he barreled right into one of the bodyguards. He could feel the man’s bones cracking beneath his tread, feel the life leave his body, and feel bullets bouncing off his armour like rubber bands.  
  
All around him, he and his men were tearing into the guards, enhanced strength and gunplay bearing them down as they desperately tried to pull together.  
  
Another one was taking aim. Drawing breath, the Brazen Bull roared again, and a wave of sonic energy hurtled into the guard, hurling her through the window.  
  
_Die, warmonger…_  
  
There was an explosion, and suddenly two of his men were dropping to the ground. Whirling, the Bull saw a man in green, a bow and arrow in hand, nocking and loosing another arrow. This one split then wrapped around a third man in a net…and lit with electric charge, making its victim convulse wildly.  
  
Everything seemed to happen at once. The man in green dodged nimbly away from fire from the SMGs and pistols that the attackers had, then one of the Bull’s men charged to try to seize him…but a blast of green light knocking him flying, then another man in green was running through the ruined doors, a glowing ring on his finger, then suddenly two more figures were in among his men, fists, feet and a baseball bat flying…  
  
Shaking his head angrily, Lonnie focused on the one with the ring and ran forwards…only to suddenly freeze as a glowing line encircled his left arm, then suddenly he was flying through the air.  
  
* * *  
  
Athene winced as she heard the crash from the bull-headed figure hitting the wall. This being a  _cardiac_ ward, any major shocks could be fatal to patients.  
  
Still…they’d already minimised any potential casualties. Green Lantern had engaged the security locks on the room doors and the operating theatre, meaning that nobody could get into the patients without a major effort, and by engaging these bastards in the ward’s lobby they were keeping them away from the patients.  
  
She heard the paean as the bull picked itself – himself? – up from the ground. This was Ares’ agent, alright… And Ares’ plan. Who, after all, would benefit more from encouraging conflict than a God of War and Strife?  
  
As the bull started forward again, she lashed out with the Lasso of Power, this time grabbing him around the right leg and yanking him off his feet. But now the bull grabbed the Lasso himself and tugged, yanking Athene towards him. As she fell forward, he lashed out with a mailed fist. Athene caught it on her shield, but the impact nearly knocked her flying backwards, and she felt her shield dent.  
  
_So you’re super-strong? Well, so am I._ Curving to the side, she feinted a blow, then as he blocked and tried to rise, brought herself down on him with full force, slamming the edge of her shield into where his helmet met his neck.  
  
The armour held, but she heard the whoosh of air leaving his lungs, and she knew his throat would at least be damn bruised from that. She drew her shield back, only to be sent staggering as machine-gun fire slammed into the back of her armour. Whirling, she saw Deghayes, his face a mask of fury as he tossed his gun away and closed with her, roaring unintelligibly.  
  
The strength of his blow took her by surprise, bowling her from her feet. Then Deghayes tried to drop on her, elbow-first, but she managed to roll away and regain her feet, pulling her spear from her back and neatly lancing him in the right shoulder. Deghayes yelled with pain, but he kept his feet, attacking again. This time, Athene had her shield up, taking the heavy blows and then counter-attacking, slamming the shield into him and knocking him back.  
  
There was a loud roaring sound, then suddenly Athene was bowled from her feet again, feeling as though a wall had hit her. She struck the opposite wall, just in time to see the bull regaining its feet.  
  
Groaning, she began picking herself up, watching what was going on. The enemy had been reduced by half: Eris and Oracle had managed to bring down two, and the ‘Greens’ had brought down another two, but Green Arrow was on his back, two of the enemy standing over him, and Green Lantern was dodging for his life as another three closed about him…  
  
* * *  
  
Beryl – Knight – flicked her visor closed. “Well, they’ve given a good account of themselves, but our target and his seem to have some little tricks of their own up their sleeve,” she observed. “I think we’d best intervene. Ready?”  
  
Next to her, Squire pulled the hood over his face, only leaving his eyes exposed. “Ready,” he said, eyes glowing red again.  
  
“Good. You follow my lead: I’ll go for Deghayes and that bull thing; you’ll hammer anyone who sticks their head up.”  
  
_And follow those orders._ Henry was a good lad, but he had a slight complex, something that led him to take risks from time to time. She supposed it couldn’t be helped – his father had been the last PM, and his brother had been the one who’d inspired Beryl’s code-name, before his turn to alcoholism – but it did lead to some worry on her part.  
  
Anyway, enough of that… “Ready…MOVE!”  
  
She dropped from the ventilation shaft easily, landing then rising as the suit’s servos purred gently. Sighting on one of the hostiles surrounding the chap with the ring, she fired one of her shoulder-mounted lasers, hitting in the centre of mass, before turning and firing on the bull with the other.  
  
* * *  
  
Athene stared. A huge, hulking figure in black armour had just dropped from the ceiling vent, followed by a much smaller figure, and had shot…a  _laser_ at one of the enemy, killing him. Then another beam lanced into the bull, burning at his armour and making him pull back with a roar. The smaller figure, meanwhile, weaved in amongst the men attacking Green Arrow, a pair of blades lancing out of his arms and stabbing deep into one of them. As another turned to face him, there was a brief flash from his eyes, and the terrorist went down, yelling and…foaming from the mouth, Athene noted.  
  
Then suddenly, the bull was charging, grabbing at the figure in armour. Electricity coursed around the outside of its armour, covering the bull and making him shake, but he stayed standing, lifting the armoured figure and slamming it bodily into a wall. But then he was spun around himself, slammed into the same wall. He roared and shoved forwards, squeezing down on the figure’s arms. The lasers fired again, and blades shot out from the fists, making him roar again, but he stayed gripping like grim death.  
  
Athene’s charge was enough to separate the two, then the Lasso of Power shot out, grabbing him about the throat and snapping him back around, just in time to meet a heavy blow from the armoured figure’s two fists.  
  
From the corner of her eye, Athene saw Deghayes making a run for the doors further into the ward…only for Eris to pursue him. “I got this!” she called. “Do your rodeo thing.”  
  
Then she was gone.  
  
* * *  
  
The Brazen Bull was furious. This hadn’t been part of the plan. They should have trampled right through the guards – with one or two casualties, to leave evidence as to the plan behind – killed the ambassador then left.  
  
Instead, nearly all his team were down, and he himself had been hurt far worse than he’d ever been since he got this armour. He could feel blood pouring from his nose, and he felt pain in his ribs.  
  
_Focus. Focus on one target._ He saw the silver-armoured woman – the Amazon, he guessed, from what Ares had told him – and charged again, putting all his enhanced strength and stamina into the charge and giving the special roar at the same time. The sonic wave nearly knocked the Amazon from her feet, but she managed to stay upright and brace with her accursed shield, catching him on the front of his helmet and making his head ring. Then she stabbed out with her spear, catching him in the leg. He screamed, pulling back as the other figure’s lasers burned into his side.  
  
All of his men were down now. Deghayes might get through, but…the Bull couldn’t do this. Against so many, he had to pull back.  
  
Turning, he summoned the last of his strength and  _ran,_ smashing through the wall and falling to the street below.  
  
* * *  
  
“Heya!” Eris called brightly as she saw the terrorist pause at a corridor intersection. As he turned, she advanced, lazily swinging her bat. “It’s the one to the right, pal. Ya just haveta pass me first.”  
  
He seemed to blink at her. “Wha-?”  
  
“Yeah. The politics makes my head hurt, but, eh, I’m a Jew, so I guess it’s my duty to stop ya. An’ besides, Red says so.”  
  
Something interesting was happening to Deghayes’ face, it put her in mind of a balloon getting blown up. “Hey, careful there. Ya don’t want ta die before we even fight.” She paused, considering. “Though this  _is_ a cardiac ward, if ya gonna have an attack, no better place.”  
  
The rage and scorn were finally given voice. “You think you can stop me, woman?”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Eris’ attention was only half on him now. Her thumb tapped at her music player, trying to decide the best track to accompany all this…ah! Perfect. “Red says I gotta stop ya, and I love Red to bits.” She grinned. “Plus, that’s my favourite colour. Like blood.”  
  
“Y-you…I was a Colonel in the secret police! And I’ve fought the jihad against you filthy unbelievers for years since the British invasion! My training and strength…no infidel slut’s going to beat me!”  
  
Eris’ eyes narrowed. “Oh. Right. Well, you seem to feel strongly about it… An’ you’ve had your strength boosted, I couldn’t take that.” She paused. “On the other hand…”  
  
She ran forward, straight at him…then dived just as the ‘Guile’ theme from  _Street Fighter II_ began roaring in her ear-beads, sliding along the ground and bringing her bat up, hard. “Strong or weak, most guys don’t like a baseball bat to the balls,” she said, rolling aside and coming up as Deghayes screamed, his attack forgotten. “Or the right kneecap,” she added, this time going for a two-handed swing. At just the right angle to knock his kneecap thirty degrees to the side. She winced as his scream reached an even higher pitch. “Awwww, your knee lost its cap. It’s gonna get wet when it rains,” she observed, swinging her bat into the  _back_ of the affected knee.  
  
Somehow, Deghayes managed to stay standing. He swung a punch, a punch that  _would_ probably have killed Eris if she’d stayed still to take it. Since she ducked, all it did was destroy a room door.  
  
As Deghayes tried to stumble after her, she brought the bat down in an easy to see motion…then, as he raised both arms to defend his head, she reversed the blow, and brought the bat’s butt  _up_ into his throat. Something cracked, and he fell backwards, clutching his throat as he struggled to breathe. “Sonic  _boom!_ ” Eris yelled, pumping a fist in triumph.  
  
She watched him as he writhed on the floor, and sighed. “Huh. Looks like you need an emergency tracheotomy.” She brightened. “Lucky I bring an emergency kit with me.”  
  
She dropped down beside the man. Red preferred their victims to survive, after all.  
  
Though…this was gonna hurt him.  
  
* * *  
  
Knight winced as she saw the sheer number of alerts going off on her HUD. That bull-headed bastard had had some serious strength – without the Greek girl, she doubted she could have handled him.  
  
Still, that aside, the op had gone well enough, and the self-repair systems were at work. Now she just had to grab Deghayes…  
  
She paused as she saw the smaller of the two Greek-themed heroes standing up from what had clearly been a singularly painful tracheotomy on her target. “Oh, hi,” the hero said brightly, pulling off a pair of plastic gloves she’d put on over the costume’s. “He’ll be fine, ‘long as that tube in his throat doesn’t get blocked.”  
  
_Christ! Five, Six and the Regiment have been after him for years, and some mad bint with a baseball bat is the one to bring Deghayes down._  
  
“Har – Eris!” The other Greek hurried past Knight, grabbing her smaller comrade up in an embrace. “You’re alright!”  
  
“Of course I am!” The smaller woman sounded indignant. “You thought I couldn’t handle  _that?_ How’d the rodeo go?”  
  
“Ah…he got away.”  
  
“It happens.” Knight was crouching down next to Deghayes, voice-scrambler engaged to ensure she couldn’t be recognised. “Nice piece of field surgery. It’ll make moving him a little more ticklish, but I think we can have that sorted.” Even as she spoke, she was transmitting, signaling for their pick-up team to bring medical equipment with them.  
  
Carefully, she picked the groaning man up, watching to make sure the tube didn’t get jogged.  
  
Athene was looking her way. “Wha – Wait! What’re you…”  
  
“Sorry, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to disappear,” Knight told her. “It was an experience, but we came here for Abdul, not for anyone else.”  
  
“Wait…you think we’re going to just let you walk out of here with him?” Athene demanded.  
  
“Absolutely. Especially since the police are going to be here in, oh, under two minutes, and you really don’t have time to try to debate this with us.” Squire was standing beside Athene, voice polite even through his scrambler, but blades out and tensed to spring.  
  
Eris had her bat out. “Take those away from her right now, pal, ‘less you wanna get turned into the mole in Whack-a-Mole.”  
  
Knight decided to be a bit more conciliatory. “We’re on the side of the angels, old loves. Just a bit more…official than you. I can promise that our Abdul will be facing justice for his crimes.”  
  
Athene paused. Then she raised a hand to her ear. “We really don’t have time for this,” she growled. “Fine. Take him.”  
  
Knight felt herself relax under the suit. “Good choice.”  
  
She and Squire double-timed it away, heading for their pre-planned exit.  
  
* * *  
  
As the two strangers disappeared, Eris bobbed up beside Athene. “How come ya let ‘em go, Red?”  
  
“Because the cops really  _are_ just around the corner, and another fight would have just delayed us. And because they  _have_ to be state actors: only a country would have the resources to build a suit like that; and they both had Special Forces training of some kind.” She winced. “Probably would have been kinder to see him get taken by the JCPD, but he’d probably have been shipped out somewhere very similar to where they’re taking him anyway.”  
  
It didn’t feel right. She’d always hated that side of the war – if not for her orientation coming out when it did, she might honestly have left over that – but…  _We have to go._  
  
Anyway…they’d won out. The Israeli Ambassador was still alive, they’d managed to minimise casualties – if the JCPD had had to storm in, there’d have been more than a few bodyguards injured or killed.  
  
_Thank the gods I caught that one who went flying out the window._ The poor thing had taken a broken collarbone and arm, but she was alive at least…  
  
Wincing a little as the first of a new set of bruises made themselves felt, Athene walked back to gather the others, closely followed by Eris.

 **Arrowcave, 20:00**  
  
"So,” Oliver said, “let’s review. We thwarted the attack. However…”  
  
Kate nodded. “The leader of the attack got away. And the other leader, the terrorist who we managed to get our lead with, got taken by two supers we’ve  _never_ seen before. Both of whom clearly had military training.”  
  
“I think I can guess who  _they_ were,” John chimed in. “Hardly a coincidence that they turned up after I called a senior British officer.”  
  
Kate blinked. “You think… Would they do that, on our soil?”  
  
“Only for a high-value target. And quite frankly, I don’t see it as a problem. Deghayes was a mass-murdering bastard: I won’t shed tears for him if he’s won a one-way ticket to Brunei.”  
  
Kate did her best not to wince at that. While it wasn’t widely-known outside military circles, Brunei was where the Brits maintained their equivalent of Camp Gamma, and apparently the Sultan’s security forces could be  _very_  enthusiastic indeed when it came to getting internees to talk. “The problem is, any information he has about the Bull went with him. We could’ve got him to talk, but not now.”  _And if I don’t find the Bull, then I can’t destroy his armour._ And she needed to. Even if his initial attempt had been thwarted, until the armour was destroyed, one more piece of Ares’ evil would endure in the world.  
  
“I’d say he’ll be makin’ it easy for us,” Harley observed cheerfully. As the others turned to look at her, she went on. “He ain’t just some rent-a-mob type, and he sure as heck ain’t the kind to give up. He’s a true believer in somethin’, and they don’t tend to go home and lick their wounds. He’ll be tryin’ somethin’ else to fulfill his objective.”  
  
_That’s my girl. Dead right, as usual._ Kate smiled as Oliver spoke up. “But do  _what?_ From what you said, Kate, the Bull’s loyalty was to Ares, not to any kind of standard terrorist agenda. Now, OK, I can see how his plan would have worked nicely to stir up war, but…there’s no way that he’ll be getting anywhere  _near_ the Ambassador now. What else could he do in Jump City?”  
  
“It’s not just full-on war. It’s any kind of strife and unrest.” Kate leant forward, speaking earnestly. “Anything would do, from race riots to a foreclosure turned into mass civil disobedience.”  
  
Barbara sighed. “Christ, it’s not like we’re exactly short of many of those. You’re saying he could literally strike anywhere?”  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
* * *  
  
On the other side of the city, Lonnie settled into a chair, wincing as pain speared through him.  
  
“You all right, pal?” The man sitting opposite him was hard to see, given the low light of the cellar and the obscuring effect his multiple facial piercings and tattoos had on his expression, but Lonnie was pretty sure the guy was concerned.  
  
“Yeah, just a little roughed up. But anyway, like we were saying…”  
  
“Yeah, heard the news. Shame they didn’t get ‘im, but you can bet that this is gonna be used to justify whatever those bastards do next in Palestine.”  
  
“Well, way I see it, we need to make it clear that our eyes are on ‘em. And I’ve heard that some people are planning a pro-Israel rally in a couple of days…” Something that had grown from a seed Lonnie had planted, on a pro-Israel forum. Serving Ares had taught him a great deal about pitting two sides against each other.  
  
His…acquaintance jolted. “No way! No, we can’t let that stand.”  
  
“Exactly. The way I see it, we need to get a counter-rally going…”  
  
_Pro-Israel on one side, pro-Palestine on the other…instant riot fodder, especially with what else I'm planning. With that and with the assassination attempt, well, it might take longer, but Israeli attitudes will be well-hardened. We’ll have our war._  
  
And, as a bonus…the forces of order in this city would receive a very nasty shock.  
  
* * *  
  
Deghayes was already heavily sedated, so he didn’t stir as he was carefully loaded into an ambulance. Well, something that looked very like an ambulance, though the drivers and the two burly individuals in the back were very definitely  _not_ paramedics.  
  
Beryl watched them with one eye as she held up the scrambler phone. “Yes sir, they’re loading him now. No, they briefed me on where they’re going.”  
  
_The nearest beach, then a nice ride to Brunei aboard an_ Astute- _class submarine._  
  
“You made the arrangements I mentioned earlier?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Colonel Pennyworth’s voice crackled and whirred. “There’ll be a full PROSPERO medical team in RN Brunei to analyse his blood for any ‘special’ agents.”  
  
“Thank you, sir. May be nothing, but it may fill in some gaps in our own development.”  
  
“Well, you don’t know until you try. I’ll see you in Brunei then?”  
  
Beryl paused. “Actually sir…I was wondering if I might have your permission to remain on-site?”  
  
There was a pause from the Colonel’s end. “Any particular reason?”  
  
“Well this bull character is still at large, sir. And his suit…I don’t know what went into it, but the sheer strength beats even the Knight suit, and it could take direct hits from a laser. If we could get a piece of it…”  
  
She left the thought unsaid. But she could almost hear the wheels turning in the Colonel’s mind. Her Knight suit was the most advanced thing to come out of PROSPERO’s labs thus far, but it was the first rather than the only version of its kind. Phase One of the project called for the production of between thirty and fifty more, for cleared SAS strike teams. Research, meanwhile, would take place over the following years for the Phase Two suits…and once they eventually began mass-production, the plan was to turn the Phase One suits over to more ‘mundane’ special operations units, like the Royal Marine Commandos or the Parachute Regiment.  
  
Anything that advanced the development of Phase Two up by some time would be of consdiderable benefit for Her Majesty’s forces. Especially if it saw a major improvement over Phase One.  
  
“All right, Knight. But be careful. I’ll have fresh transport arranged for seventy-two hours from now. Be there, one way or the other." There was a brief laugh. "There's some stuff happening up by the Malay-Thai border that could cause a bit of a fracas, the Thais and their Japanese friends are making some noise, I need you two."  
  
"Roger that."  
  
"And Knight?" Colonel Pennyworth was deadly serious now. "Do  _not_ let anyone get hold of the suit or Squire’s augmentations. Not even the cousins.”  
  
“Understood, sir.”

 **The Guard Tower, 22:30**  
  
Johnny yawned slightly, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s, it’s all over the political forums. There’ll be a pro-Israel rally the day after tomorrow, and, and, a collection of leftist forums and Palestinian activist sites are calling for a counter-march. And they’ll both be outside the city synagogue.”  
  
“Oh no…” Kate shook her head. “That’ll be a  _disaster._ All it’ll take is one person being an idiot, and instant riot.”  
  
“So it’s perfect for our boy,” Harley observed. “All he has to do is kick somethin’ off…”  
  
“No.” John shook his head, raising a green-ringed hand thoughtfully. “Well…yes, in that this is his most likely target, but no in that I don’t think he’ll be in the crowd.”  
  
Kate frowned. “Why not? It’d be easy enough to kick off from there…”  
  
“You said it yourself, Ares thrives on conflict and strife. OK, a riot has both of those in spades, but it’s not exactly on the same level as killing the Ambassador.”  
  
“Yeah…” Oliver said slowly. “On the other hand, between that and the attempt on the Ambassador’s life, the mood on the street and in government circles back in Israel…it’s not going to be good for Palestinians.”  
  
“No, but it could be even worse. If our target was actually to ensure large-scale  _loss of life_ at this, rather than just the usual riot fare…well, something like that would be guaranteed to spin out of control, create something that makes 1990s Los Angeles look tame by comparison. And it’d cause a  _definite_ escalation, out there.”  
  
Kate had to admit, that much was a definite point. But how, how’d he go about doing that…  
  
She snapped her fingers. “Johnny, Barbara, could one of you pull up anything you can find on the protest location? Above and below ground, both.”  
  
* * *  
  
**Jump City Synagogue, 13:30**  
  
“ISRAEL! ISRAEL!” The chant tore from the throats of a sea of demonstrators, clashing with the calls to liberate Palestine that came from the opposing sea of demonstrators. The only thing that rose above the opposing chants was the singing: some roaring out ‘Hatikvah’, others singing ‘We shall overcome’ or similar protest songs.  
  
Watching from his high vantage point, an apartment block overlooking the street below and the synagogue, the Brazen Bull could see how the police were already overstretched trying to hold the two groups back from each other. And it was going to be painfully easy to get things going.  
  
He tapped on his walkie-talkie once. A second later, he saw a couple of long-haired young men on the pro-Palestinian side break past the police and run full-tilt into the pro-Israel side, swinging improvised weapons. Then, a heartbeat later, things descended into utter chaos.  
  
_Let the cameras get a good look at it, then…_ His eyes strayed to the detonator at his belt. He’d be ready.  
  
* * *  
  
The door to the abandoned subway station was warped and rotten, and gave way easily beneath Green Arrow’s boot. He burst through a half-collapsed ticket office, bow raised, then loosed a net-arrow as two men loomed up ahead of him, both wearing ski masks and clutching battered guns.  
  
The net engulfed the pair of them, bringing them down and shocking them. Then Green Arrow dropped behind a turnstile as fire from a Mac-10 cut through the air, knocking sparks off the ground.  
  
Green Lantern rose up behind Green Arrow, green bolts flashing from his ring and knocking the man with the gun from his feet. As Green Lantern fired on another man sheltering down on the tracks, Green Arrow loosed another arrow, hitting a gunman crouching atop an abandoned train.  
  
“Fascist bastards!” one of them yelled.  
  
Green Arrow didn’t listen. His attention was fixed on the contents of one of the abandoned carriages.  
  
_Looks like ammonium nitrate…shit, that could destroy the entire block above._  
  
A part of his mind coldly admired the viciousness of the planning. The positioning of the bomb would make it  _look_ like the pro-Israel contingent had been the primary target, thus ensuring that it’d have the desired effect in Israel itself; but enough people would die that supporters of both sides who hadn’t been at the protest would probably run wild through the city. Add to that the usual looting that accompanied a major event like this, accompanied by the deaths of the many police officers deployed here…  _The city would tear itself apart._  
  
Nocking another arrow to his bow, he prepared to push on.  
  
* * *  
  
The Bull continued to watch the riot, then straightened slightly. It was time. A shame that so many had to die, but…when the world was at stake, when the true path of anarchy could be brought to so many, what were a few deaths?  
  
He reached for his belt…then went flying forwards.  
  
* * *  
  
Athene tried to follow up with another kick, to tip the creature off the rooftop, but the bull rolled and was back on his feet in a second. He charged, but Athene braced herself, raised her shield…then just as he came into reach, dropped to the ground, still holding the shield. The bull, unable to stop, continued, tripped on her, then she rose – shield now above her – and as the bull fell onto her shield, she  _heaved._  
  
Her strength and the bull’s momentum launched it from the rooftop, hurling it to the street below, where it landed in the midst of the developing, causing people on both sides to pull back.  
  
Athene jumped, Eris now close behind her. She landed smoothly, caught Eris, then advanced on the bull as he struggled to clamber back to his feet.  
  
With one swift motion, the Lasso of Power shot out, and the bull was caught. Athene tugged, pulling the huge, armoured creature over, and Eris covered him with one of Luthor’s new toys. “Surrender,” Athene growled.  
  
“Surrender?” The voice rang around the huge helmet. “NEVER!”  
  
The roar knocked both the heroines to the ground, and exploded into the ranks of the pro-Israel marchers, bowling many of them over like skittles. Athene hissed…  _How many will be injured?_  
  
As she stood up, the bull rose too, arms still tethered but hand at his belt. “I’ll survive, but these won’t…”  
  
* * *  
  
Green Arrow loosed another arrow, a gas one this time. There was a coughing fit, but more gunfire. And one of the enemy was right by the carriage with the bomb in it…  
  
There was a high-pitched shriek, and suddenly that one fell. Then a shape exploded from the darkness, falling on the remaining enemies.  
  
More gunfire, more shrieks, but it was away from the carriage. Summoning all his strength, Green Arrow ran, ran across the platform and leapt into the carriage. He landed hard…but he was right beside the bomb, and he saw a machine attached to the ammonium nitrate, attached by wires that – he knew – would spark to set off the explosion.  
  
The small machine began to light up, and he moved like lightning, yanking the wire from the huge but crude assembly.  
  
* * *  
  
Athene felt her heart freeze as the bull pressed his remote…then it started again as she realised that nothing had happened.  
  
Eris laughed. “You’re done, pal. Nothing left for you, ‘cept handin’ yourself over.”  
  
The bull froze – if Athene could have seen his face, she was willing to bet she’d have seen a look of surprise on it. His shoulders, slumped…then rose again, and he charged forwards, aiming for the pro-Israel demonstrators. Athene stood in his path, taking his charge, but he roared again, forcing the two of them apart with a crack. Eris fired, a sonic blast knocking the bull sideways, but he was able to regain his feet, and he charged for her. Athene ran forwards as Eris tried to recharge her gun, desperate to put herself between the two…  
  
Two beams hit the bull in the back, making him stagger. Then there was a blinding flash and a loud crack, and he fell again.  
  
A blur, and the armoured figure that had helped them in the hospital was standing on top of him, laser firing again and burning into the armour. The bull howled and bucked, knocking the armoured figure down…but now Athene had been able to get to the trailing end of the Lasso, and she tugged hard. Then, as the bull fell back down, she pulled the line hard about its neck, wrapping it around a few times. “Hold that,” she ordered Eris. As her partner obeyed, she took a hold of the horns on the helmet and pulled, pulled as hard as she could. The bull roared and thrashed, but then went limp as the helmet finally came away, revealing a surprisingly youthful man beneath it. “No!” he shrieked. “Damn you, you capitalist bitch! Damn you…”  
  
His armour had clearly gone dead with the removal of the helmet, but Athene continued to briskly remove it, piece by piece. As she worked, their unexpected ally appeared. “Give you a hand?” the voice clicked and whirred.  
  
“You’ve already done that.” Athene looked at her. “I thought you were just here for Deghayes.”  
  
“Couldn’t leave you to face this lunatic alone, old girl.”  
  
_Definitely British._ “Appreciated. And your arrival was timed perfectly.” Athene paused. “What would I call you, if I was so inclined?”  
  
“Knight will do.”  
  
Eris laughed. “How long’d  _that_ name take ta come up with? Five minutes?”  
  
The armoured figure looked at her for a while, then turned back to Kate. “Is she always like that?”  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
“Well, if it works for you both…anyway, I’d best disappear, old loves. Awkward questions and all that.”  
  
Athene nodded. The crowd, which had dispersed, was starting to drift back. And there were fresh police units coming, she could hear the sirens. “Us too. Good luck, and hope to see you again.”  
  
“Who knows? Not for a while, though – got another job on.”  
  
So saying, Knight turned and dodged smartly away, disappearing into an alley.  
  
Restraining the now-armourless bull, Kate picked up the various pieces of his armour…then paused. “Damn.”  
  
“What, Red?”  
  
“One of the greaves is missing.”  
  
* * *  
  
**Jump City Federal Building, 18:00**  
  
Jacob Kane reviewed the footage again. Eventually, he nodded. “The armour,” he said. “Definitely.”  
  
On the other side of the phone, Secretary Trevor sighed with relief. “That’s good. Better external than internal source for strength like  _that._ ”  
  
“How’re we handling the news?”  
  
“Oh, we’ve released the news there was a bomb, just downplayed the size. And the conspiracy element – Athene helped us by dropping that bull guy so publicly, we’ve been able to just claim it as the work of a lone lunatic.”  
  
“Well, when he goes to trial, our boy here’ll verify  _that._ Keeps screaming about anarchy and the end of the fascist-capitalist system.”  _Helps that he’s absolutely lily-white, too – should help mitigate any danger of racist backlash to the foiled attack._  
  
“We absolutely didn’t retrieve any of the armour?”  
  
“Nope. Athene took it. Her and that other super, the one with the armour of her own.” Thus far, Kane’s efforts to trace whoever  _that_  was – along with Deghayes – were fruitless.  
  
He looked at the footage again. The more he saw of Athene, the more convinced he was that he’d seen her somewhere before. If he could just remember where…  
  
“Well, good luck with your tracking efforts.” Trevor sighed. “You sure have the easy assignments. Me, I’m going to be up all night. The President wants regular updates about this latest trouble on the Malay-Thai border.”  
  
“Bad?”  
  
“Eh, could be worse. Britain and Japan are both trying to get their clients to sit down and talk things out. But…well, Japan, you know them. They gotta save face. So they’re working to try to get it sorted, but they’ve also sent the  _Akagi_ and her battle group to visit Thailand, just to show the Thais that they’re all allies.”  
  
Kane nodded. The Asian need for ‘face’ – and their constant need to ostentatiously prove that they had the interests of their allies in Indochina and Thailand at heart – always made dealing with the Empire of Japan a somewhat prickly prospect, even when they wanted the same things as America or Britain. “Well, good luck.”  
  
Hanging up, he stared at the still of Athene.  _Who are you?_  
  
* * *  
  
**Sweet Sinners club, Malebranche District, 20:00**  
  
The club was utterly packed, and the music was loud, but Oliver Queen felt that he and his team deserved it. So he had no guilt at all about knocking back the shot. “To saving the city. Again,” he said.  
  
Barbara nodded. John, though, looked troubled. “We did…but what’s to stop this ‘Ares’ guy coming back for another go? I mean, if he was behind Ra’s too…”  
  
“We’ll be ready for him. And we’ve got Kate.”  
  
Truth be told, Oliver was worried too. While he found it hard to believe much of what Kate had told him – whoever this guy was, he was  _not_ the God of War – he believed the effect the man could have. And he believed he had powerful weapons at his disposal. If he was coming to threaten the city again…  _It’ll be hard. Damn hard._  
  
Right now, though…  _Let’s celebrate being alive. And when Kate and Harley get here, I’m going to buy them all the booze they want._  
  
* * *  
  
**Savage National Park**  
  
The glow subsided, and the armour crumbled to dust. Kate sighed with relief.  
  
Turning, she walked inside the cabin. Harley, a vision in a sparkly silver top – despite all evidence to the contrary, it  _had_  to be a top, handkerchieves didn’t have spaghetti-straps – and jeans, looked up. “Done?” she asked.  
  
Kate nodded. “Yeah. That’s one weapon of Ares that won’t be a threat ever again.” Well, except for the missing greave, but hopefully it wouldn’t be a problem on its own.  
  
She walked into the bedroom, pulling off her exercise top and flexing her long, muscled arms. “All right, best wash and…” she paused. “Harley…where’d my suit go?”  
  
“Back in the cupboard, Red.” Harley had followed her.  
  
“Huh? Why?”  
  
“Got ya somethin’ else ta wear.”  
  
Kate looked at the bed. Then blinked. “Wait… _what?_ ”  
  
“Aw, c’mon Red! Just try it on!”  
  
Kate held up the very small, very sparkly yellow dress. “Harley…if this was any shorter, the wearer could legitimately be arrested.”  
  
“ _Please,_ Red? Ya got gorgeous legs, you should show ‘em off more.”  
  
“And  _garters?_ ” Kate set her lips. “Just what was so wrong with my suit, anyway?”  
  
“Nothin’, and I  _do_ like ya butch, but…once in a while, you should…well, it’s healthy for ya to just revel in bein’ feminine.” Harley pouted and batted her lashes. “ _Please?_ I gotta look out for your psychological well-bein’, y’know. An’, well, I like showin’ you off.”  
  
Kate couldn’t help it. She fought the wry smile, but it broke out across her face. “You do realise it’s just going to make you clingy and possessive all evening, right?”  
  
“Yeah, but you like me like that.”  
  
“Like you? No.  _Love_ you, yes."  
  
* * *  
  
“… _and we owe a debt of thanks to Athene, for saving us…._ ” The rabbi’s voice was cut off as Kara muted the TV.  
  
She didn’t know that much about Athene – the woman was apparently non-sanctioned, and very cautious about being approached. Both her and her cohort Eris.  
  
_Not a good sign – she doesn’t cooperate with the law._ And she seemed to be more of a ‘symptom’ than ‘underlying disease’ crimefighter, the kind that Kara herself hoped to avoid being.  
  
On the other hand…  _I wonder, could there be a connection between this attack, and things happening here in Metropolis?_ If so…maybe approaching Athene wouldn’t be a bad idea.  
  
Maybe.


	3. The Angel in the Motherland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 by ajm8888 on alternatehistory.com.

**Moscow, Eurasian Coordinate  
Moscow Politsiya Headquarters,  
Moscow Criminal Investigation Department**  
  
Valentina Vostok was a colonel in the Moscow Police Department. Sure there was still many officers that called it the Militisya but Colonel Vostok was a new type of police officer she was a leading woman detective. That in it's own was a rarity. Many of her peers and superiors had tried and will continue to try and get into her pants. They weren't fond of her because she was better than most male detectives and her status as a metahuman.  
  
Vostok was a former Major in the Eurasian Coordinate Air Defense Force Valentina Vostok was called the Blonde Bomber. That was odd as she was a fighter jockey and not a bomber jockey. Despite being very attractive she earned her position through hard work and proving she could fly like a bird. She was a member of the Eurasian Coordinate Swifts (An aerial acrobatics team the Air Force and Air Defense Force Operated) After doing the Paris Air Show in 1999 she transferred back to the regular service. But things went array in 2001. Whilst flying over Siberia on patrol she encountered a craft. Vostok could publicly never say what it was but it was an alien craft. She shot it down but it fired it's weapon her advanced Sukhoi SU-27 and it crashed.  
  
After that Valentina remembers very little. The hospital, men in space suits, the chief of defense staff, and the bandages. She hated the bandages. She had to wear them all the time for five years. They told her the craft inhabited some sort of radioactive energy creature. The creature was in her somehow.  
  
The Eurasian Coordinate of course would not look a gift horse in the mouth. They would train her in close quarters combat and test her abilities. She had to be careful if she was away from her body too long she would die. The brass made her apart of the People's Heroes. She was given a codename being wrapped in bandages and her powers being focused on negative energy the brass came up with the dumb name Negative Woman. It was better than "Radioactive Mummy Woman" she guessed.  
  
She fought enemies of the European Coordinate all over the country and the world. They never deployed her to America but they thought about sending her there during the Borman Presidency to kill the annoying fucker. If what President Lebed said was true President Borman thought Pottsylvannia was a real country. "I hate stupid Americans..." was the words the President Lebed used. But that would start a nuclear war.  
  
For five years she was invited to major events of the national brass. She was sitting in the Bolshoi with the Prime Minister and Foreign Minister. She cozied up to Eurasian Coordinate Unity Party members and took pictures with them as she was expected to do. As well with the other party leaders to not show favoritism. Though the military brass encouraged her to "Make the service proud and keep the ECKE people happy as they were responsible for our budget."  
  
But the in 2005 Valentina was relieved when she could stop wearing the bandages all the time. The eggheads developed a pill that reduced her radioactivity production to safe background levels. It worked and she still got pills free of charge. Perks of being a hero. Also the entity left when she went to the Crimean Reactor. She still kept her powers which was a plus.  
  
However, she fucked up in 2006 when a drunk chief of Western Air Defense attempted to molest her and possibly rape her. She kneed Colonel General Lyadov Abram Georgiy in the groin. She caused so much damage to the man's privates that he had to get one of his "gentlemen" replaced with a prosthetic.  
  
The brass decided that because she was a hero she couldn't be sent to a gulag. It also didn't hurt her father was a cosmonaut and later a telecommunications oligarch. So they transferred her to Siberia and put her in a military police unit. She found out she was actually a great detective. Eventually she caught the attention of Colonel General Portnov Yelisey Olegovich of the Moscow Militisya, later Moscow Politisya (police). He put her in the Moscow Criminal Investigation Department. Despite the respect the department had it lacked a metahuman.  
  
The Police department loved the fact they had her. She could go in and look in on the mob, investigate murders, track serial killers, the possibilities were endless. She rose from being a major, the rank was when they ejected to Siberia, to a full colonel. By 2018 she would be a Major General.  
  
Major General Valentina Vostok, it sounded good.  
  
She hoped she could head home early tonight, the reality program "What would you do for Three Million Rubles?" followed by "Yeti Hunters" and then her favorite show "Comrades".  
  
The white board was dealing with the High Heel Killer, A group of mob hits, the theft group "The Ermines", and other things the CID handled.  
  
**Later that night  
Vostok's Apartment**  
  
Later that night Valentina Vostok was watching "Yeti Hunters". Valentina was laughing her ass off. It would be hard to tell from Valentina's appearance. She was wrapped in bandages but her mouth was uncovered as was her eyes. She gobbled up some more snacks.  
  
Vasily and Pyotr were arguing over who was supposed to set up the cameras. Then they heard a scream, it was Anastasia! These men armed with AK-47's and other guns ran deeper into the woods to chase after the Yeti and find the busty redhead.  
  
Valentina was enjoying the show when her cell ringed she saw it was the chief on the caller ID. "Yes sir?" she asked her boss on the phone.  
  
"Vostok get here ASAP. We got a major case and I need you here yesterday." replied the chief of the police department. "All hands on deck."  
  
"What happened?" asked Colonel Vostok. "Tell me sir."  
  
"The Minister of Culture, his wife, the Chief Marshal of Strategic Rocket Forces has been killed along with most Minister's KGB bodyguards and several others. It's a good dammed bloodbath Vostok."  
  
"Okay sir. But I will be in bandages, my radiation level is higher than allowed." she told her boss. He sighed on the other end of the line.  
  
"Fine but get here quick." Her boss gave the address of the Minister's apartment.  
  
"I will." Vostok hung up and got dressed, she turned off her TV. She took the stairs down to her car, the Lada 112 (police version) she turned it over and drove her car to the crime scene.  
  
**Barvikha, Moscow Oblast  
An Hour later...**  
  
Traveling across Moscow was always very difficult, thirteen near road rage incidents, two actual road rage incidents, and a man in a shopping cart on the highway, sadly amazingly common.  
  
Valentina drove along the major road leading to the dacha of the Culture Minister, Barvikha had a nickname it was Rublyovka this is where the wealthy of the Eurasian Coordinate would have there mansions. The point was this area was close to the one of the residences of the President of the Coordinate, Meyerdorff Castle or Barvikha Castle. Many Ministers has dachas in the area and so did many Oligarchs. Valentina knew the area well. Her father the telecom oligarch had a mansion out here.  
  
She drove out here but there was more security men than ever. Already state owned media and the few private outlets were setting up. The foreign Press would be here soon, if they gave a shit. Valentina bet BBC would be here, French News, DW, and a few others. The Americans may send CNN. She heard what an OMON officer said, "If it don't involves something related to a celebrity taking it up the backdoors or war the Americans don't care."  
  
Along with the police, she saw KGB, Interior Ministry, Railway troops (Why were they here?), Military Police, Army Ambulance, KGB Section 10 (Bodyguards), GRU, and National Guard troops. God what a mess. She knew it was going to be a nightmare on jurisdiction for this one. KGB would take charge but the police would have to take lead on the case as the Police did actually handle murders.  
  
She parked her car and ignored the stares she got from the soldiers, it was like they never saw a woman covered in bandages before.  
  
She flashed her badge through the various groups protecting the crime scenes. Since when the hell did Railway troops get involved in law enforcement?  
  
Valentina Vostok saw the chief, Colonel General Portnov Olegovich, the man with a full moustache and a bald head he was there with the bearded man she knew as General Anatoli Knyazev. The General was the anti-west KGB Chairman.  
  
"Look Comrade Anatoli, the KGB has the right to be be involved with the death of Culture Minister Nemtsov Konstantinovich, Chief Marshal Lyadov Georgiy and countless security men were murdered here, but your men aren't trained in murder investigations. They are excellent at finding anti-government elements and we'll need them to investigate but let the police do it's job!" General Olegovich barked. General Knyazev scowled. "I will bring this up with the Ministers. "  
  
"Now let my investigator through!" barked General Olegovich.  
Knyazev let Valentina through, she saw the man snort. She knew he would call her the "Mummy" it was the nickname most in the police outside of her department and the KGB called her. She was not a fan of the male centered attitude the the Russian Government had. But she was going to change the system within.  
  
"So can I see the victims?" she prepared herself for it. She saw big soldiers and cops vomiting outside the mansion. She didn't know what it was. "I warn you Valentina Svetlana, it is a god dammed nightmare."  
"God how bad?"  
The chief thought for a minute, "Crazy Steve."  
Her eyes went wide. Crazy Steve was an American tourist that went nuts in a nightclub and killed dozens of people with whatever he could find, guns, knives, tools, and his bare hands. All in the name of justice. He was gunned down by the police. But at the end of the ordeal fifty people were murdered. Hell even American President Borman stated his disgust for the man. The slaughter was telecast live to the world.  
When General Olegovich said Crazy Steve she knew to expect the worst.  
"God..." Valentina knew it would be bad.  
They put on the anti-crime scene messing shoe covers. Valentina called them shoe bonnets. There was probably a correct term for them but she knew them as shoe bonnets. As they entered the scene Crazy Steve was a safe point to begin with the description, blood, bones and guts all over the walls, the ceiling was exposed to the floor above. She saw the legs of a male victim, looked to be what remained of a KGB guard, there was little above the waist of the man, lower arms, the man's head with a look of terror on the face, and little boney bits in the wall behind her. Bullet holes too.  
  
It seemed all over the house the guards were in similar states, missing heads, lower body, and a side of the body.  
  
"There was seven survivors. We think five will for certain live, two are critical. The non-critical are still injured. One had his left arm destroyed. Most are injured by gun shoot wounds, bone fragments, and debris." The General told Vostok. "I didn't think such a thing was possible."  
Valentina was an experienced officer of the law but this was unheard of. She doubted such a thing would happen in America let alone Russia.  
  
"So where's the main victims?" asked Valentina, she knew the smell would stick in the bandages again.  
"Over here." Olegovich led her out to the backyard and they saw more dead security men on the ground and on a small patio next to overturned furniture was three bodies. A dead woman, missing her head, the bloodied form of the Culture Minister, and a pair of legs wearing the blue pants of an Air Force General/Marshal.  
  
She had wished for bad things to happen to General Georgriy, he was the reason she was kicked from the People's Heroes. But she didn't think he would die like this.  
  
Despite the terrible gore crime scene techs were doing their best to photograph and find evidence. It was horrible but to find the monster that did this the police had a job to do.  
  
"So who are we looking for a suspect?" asked Vostok.  
  
Olegovich sighed, "Christ, with metas and shit like that they all got some sort of get up. He wore a bird type mask and had wings. Also he lacked a shirt. We're still working on a composite of the suspect. But with the death of so many people I am ordering a shoot to kill order on this man and an advisory once I get permission to announce this to the press."  
  
The bandaged Vostok looked at the deceased. "They were killed with something with an alien radioactivity." she said.  
  
"And you know this how?" asked her boss curiously. Valentna smiled, visible to her boss.  
  
"I can detect radioactivity Portnov Yelisey." she nodded "Problem is I can't sense this radiation at a distance."  
  
"Great now we're exactly like America." exhaled General Olegovich. "I miss the Izmaylovsky Park Cannibal at least his crimes weren't in our noses. This is shoving shit in our faces..." Olegovich grumbled and mumbled under his breath, "God what next."  
  
The Chief left the room as Vostok began to look for the clues in the crime scene. As the detective began to search he heard her boss let out an angered curse phrase. "Fuck!" He came in a few seconds later, she turned around to look at her boss who was every flustered. "The Minister of Internal Affairs has been kidnapped, same description as our attacker here."  
  
"Well I will stay here to look over the sight of the murder my subordinates can take care of the Minister's kidnapping with the KGB." Vostok shook her head, "I have no idea what this is building up to."  
  
"Nor do I and that worries me." replied Olegovich.

 **The Next Day...  
Mercury City Tower  
The Moscow International Business Center  
Moscow, Moscow Federal City, Eurasian Coordinate**  
  
Vasily Ogarkov was a window washer and at aged 57 he had lived through many hazards. Falling platforms, getting stuck and being attacked by pigeons were some of the many things he dealt with. He got onto the platform and lowered it. Luckily he an independent line for his harness. It descended without jerking dropping and other hazards.  
  
Horray! He didn't die! The building manager actually took his suggestion! A Miracle has taken place! The Patriarch of Moscow must have whispered a prayer to god for Vasily.  
  
He got to the 33rd floor and began to clean the windows. In Russia on the newer buildings were phasing window cleaners, new western technology. Oh well Vasily would go into his brothers shop in the city. He saw the offices of some oil company in the building. He ignored the going's on He looked more at how clean the window was.  
  
The city below was busy. The killing of a government minister and the chief marshal for rocket troops was on all the media outlets. The KGB and police said it was done by a meta most likely. But it was a shock to hear two high ranking Eurasian Coordinate officials were killed. Ogarkov was never one for politics, he did watch "Topless News" but he rarely heard what the attractive ladies said he was a little more interested in their "assets".  
  
He finished on the 33rd floor and move up to the 34th floor. He was thinking tonight he'd get food at a Big Belly Burger. He was hungry enough for their meal tonight. Who cared about the rumors of horse meat-  
  
WHAMP! CRASH! BASH!  
  
Vasily grabbed the side of his platform and prayed to the appropriate god. He hoped there was a saint for window cleaners. He closed his eyes and expected the weightlessness, instead he felt it move side to side. Vasily opened his eyes.  
  
He saw two things before him, on the platform the broken, probably deceased form of a man and standing on the railing a man. Vasily collapsed in terror the man had some sort of wings. The top half of his face was covered in a mask that looked like an eagle or a hawk  
"I thought you were the trash man. I am dropping something off. He looks like rubbish anyways. I would have dropped him on top of the Kremlin clock tower or the main building of Moscow State University but that would be too public for this piece of garbage." The man then jumped off of the platform and flew away, not falling but he flew upwards. Vasily turned his attention to the man.  
  
He'd seen the face of the dead man before, but where?  
  
Vasily radioed the building manager that something had happened and he better get police. Within an hour it became clear the flying man dropped the Anton Mirov, the Minster of Internal Affairs onto Vasily's platform. Vasily hopped he wouldn't get fired but security cameras on the 34th floor proved Vasily didn't drop the body into the platform earlier.  
  
After it was confirmed that the Minister of Internal Affairs was killed the KGB initiated Plan 28902, moving the Council of Ministers to secure sites across the country near Moscow. Metro 2 was activated.  
  
**That night...  
Moscow, Eurasian Coordinate  
Moscow Politsiya Headquarters,  
Moscow Criminal Investigation Department**  
  
Valentina Vostok was furious. Who killed the Minister of Interior, who was killing members of the Council of Ministers? It was infuriating. This Bird Man dropped a body on a window cleaner's platform and scared the shit out of the poor man. It was easy to get a statement out of the window man. He was terrified and confused.  
  
But the fact the body dropped in front of a complete stranger told Valentina the suspect had no problems with killing and more worrisome, that he didn't care if he was found. Valentina rubbed her eyes, she got little sleep since last night and she doubted she'd get much sleep tonight. The death of two ministers initiated security plans to send ministers to secure locations. Under the eyes of the KGB, Army and Ministry of Interior. While the KGB lead the security the other two made sure nothing funny happened.  
  
Valentina hoped she'd get home soon her anti-radiation bandages were going to be stinky soon and she hated smelling bad. At least the government gave her plenty of bandages, perks of a retired hero of the state. good thing she kept her hair cut short, that helped with the bandages. Also it was how the Eurasian Coordinate Air Forces liked to have their women pilots have their hair cut. If only because it was easier for helmets.  
  
But hygiene would sadly have to wait. She had a killer to find. A flying man in Moscow, luckily it was not a new Meta, the Bureau of Superhuman Affairs and Registration (Бюро сверхчеловеческих дел и регистрации) or the BCDP had no such information on new metahumans that fit that bill with wings. Valentina would then ask if her GRU friends had any intel on the fox.  
  
In Moscow they called criminals foxes. Some places squirrels other places raccoons in the Moscow PD it was Foxes especially with murders and thieves.  
  
Valentina was going to go to hit the cots in the sleeping area. Perhaps she could get a few hours sleep.  
  
The case bounced in her mind. The murder of Culture Minister Nemtsov Konstantinovich and his wife, Chief Marshal of Rocket Forces Lyadov Georgiy, 23 security men, and seven staff at the home. The twenty odd survivors were telling the same tale. A man, white, with wings and no shirt oddly tight pants, a bird mask, and a mace kaid waster to many of the security men. These marksmen shot him in the head, chest and extremities with pinpoint accuracy, two had marksmanship awards fro Department 10 of the KGB.  
  
Then came the death of the Minister of Internal Affairs, Anton Mirov. He was abducted from his ZIL limo, almost all his staff and bodyguards killed. Several officers and a portion of the forensics labs would be stuck doing identifications on the deceased. rest of deceased. But the birdman dropped the body in MIBC. The poor soul described the birdman's eyes like a wild man. No emotion other than hate.  
  
She imagined the man behind this event having access to some exotic "out of oblast" technology. God how had alien tech fallen everywhere on people at times? What was one to do with this information? Why did they often use alien tech to get rich with robbery or something like that? Never made sense to her. But then again this sort of shit fell on the Eurasian Coordinate all the time if the tabloids were right. Kazakhstan alien device, an Uzbek shepherd discovering a mass that had to resolved with a military bombardment. But why would the government cover that sort of thin up? It was not like the fox was so smart.  
  
Ah criminals they all screwed up, most were morons. They thought they could outwit the police. the smart ones just bribed the right officers. Then again she heard the story of the copier "polygraph" test. God how quickly would these dumbasses roll over and admit to it. Criminals were the most gullible type of persons. They often believed their own bullshit and were easy to dupe. Shattering their precious image always brought them down.  
  
Valentina dozed off unaware of other events occurring in Moscow...  
  
**A Warehouse in the Begovoy District  
Moscow, Eurasian Coordinate.**  
  
Near the head offices of Mikoyan and Sukhoi was an older warehouse that remained unused since the early days of the 2000s. It still had functional electrical and other systems. IT was still owned by a major company and the security company came through to get a look at them. Though often the Mob bribed enough locals to get them to look the other way when they wanted to store less than legal things like drugs, slaves, and so forth. Human trafficking was one of the few crimes the Eurasian Coordinate really looked down upon. They would just charge a man in a case like  
  
This facility was owned by a mob boss that was lending it to an American. The mob boss lent it for a flat rate. He had the money. The man with the metal wings looked over his entire operation. Twenty mercenaries with enough guns and bombs to occupy Paris.  
  
Katar Hol hated this but he was dealing with someone more powerful than he was. The man in his mid thirties knew he was between a rock and a hard place. His wife was kidnapped by a man with nigh magical abilities. He saw the mercs laughing and planning the attack while he was the distraction. The police would follow him to point A while at B these men would unleash hell at the main site of the attack. If he escaped authorities he'd go to the site of the attack and join the mercs in fighting the police and local heroes.  
  
Katar groaned. This idea was terrible but it was not his. He heard a soft chuckle. "Oh Mr. Hol, now is not the time for second thoughts. Now is the time for action." the man behind him smiled. He was wearing a business suit and an ascot around his neck. He had a military haircut.  
  
"I am in no mood for games magician." Hall told the man wearing ascot. The Caucasian man told the European looking mage.  
  
"You have to get in the game my friend." the Ascot wearing man told the wing wearing man. "Your actions will help lead to a change back home and all over the world." smiled his backer.  
  
"But I am still unsure if this is right." Katar told his "superior" His superior smiled.  
  
"If you try to back out I'll kill your wife Katar. I got her and you know it." the venom dripped from his "superior's" voice. Katar shivered. He may be a warrior but this was absolutely chilling.  
  
The next thing he knew he was in a room. He saw his wife Shayera Hol on a bed. The room had no windows, a TV, bed, and a small cabinet. There was a door to a bathroom but no other doors.  
  
"Shayera!" he let out. She lept towards him she was wearing human clothing. A grey tank top, pants, and shoes.  
"Katar!" She said excitedly. "Why are you wearing this?" she asked about Katar's current attire. He was wearing a long jacket and black pants.  
"I see your jailer has taken your mace and you uniform." Katar replied.  
"I guess he wants me here, wherever Here is!"  
"That's the point." relied the ascot wearing man, as he sat down in a comfy looking chair.  
  
Katar looked angry. "Did I upset you?" Katar held back his rage.  
  
The Ascot man shook his head. "No. I do need you in top form."  
  
"Why?" demanded both Katar and Shayera.  
  
"I want a war to end all wars. You're a race of warriors. I need a way to ensure your loyalty." he pointed at Shareya, "I found your wife and I am using her as a hostage." Shayera jumped up.  
  
"I am no hostage just because I am a woman I am a warrior! I am a member of the Thangarian military! I-"  
"Quiet!" the ascot man yelled making a snapping motion with his hand. With that motion deprived Shayera of her voice. Shayera struggled to speak but nothing came out. Katar tried to deal with his wife who while was a strong warrior was not understanding why she couldn't speak.  
  
"Let her speak!" Katar demanded as he stared daggers.  
  
"Not until you agree to what I want." the Ascot man told Katar.  
  
He looked at his wife who was shaking her no. But he looked down and away from her. "I'm sorry but I want to hear your voice again." Katar looked at the ascot wearing man. Ascot clapped his hands.  
  
"Excellent!" Ascot made a picture appear and handed it to Katar. The picture was of a suitcase. "I want you to steal it."  
  
Katar laughed. "This? Really!? I am a warrior not a thief."  
"You'll be stealing it from the head of the Eurasian Army." Katar tilted his head an evil grin spread across his face.  
"So what's so hard about this? I could do this in my sleep." Katar boasted.  
Ascot laughed. "Oh you're adorable. This is a paranoid country my fellow. They are going go after you. And they aren't as interested in the rights as the Americans."  
  
"So I must steal a special case. Why?" Katar asked. Shayera looked concerned and angry.  
  
Ascot wagged his finger. "Spoilers."  
  
Katar growled, "Then who am I working for?"  
  
Ascot smiled. "Call me Colonel Jacob Kane, of ARGUS."  
  
**Moscow Police Headquarters**  
  
Valentina was awoken by a captain shaking her. "Colonel Vostok. There's been another attack!" he said with urgency in his voice.  
  
She groggily got up. "Who?" Vostok was struggling with getting awake.  
  
"Chief Marshal Kozar!" the captain spat out the name. Valentina's eyes snapped open.  
"What?!" she said in shock.  
"Chief Marshal of Aviation Yevgeny Kozar." the captain told her again. Valentina felt as if she was punched in the gut, it was personal.  
"H-how?" she asked a little shaken.  
"The AN-26 carrying him was downed by a "man with a mace" according to the pilots. It crashed on approach to Smolensk North Airport." the Captain lowered his head. "No survivors ma'am."  
  
Valentina looked at the captain, "Thank you Captain." she shakily said. She headed to the Women's bathroom quickly. She didn't want to be upset but the death of Chief Marshal Kozar was personal to her. He was the only general to support her during the "inquiry".  
  
In the ladies room Valentina took the special needs stall and wept a little and kept her crying to soft sobs. "Why did Kozar have to die?" she quietly questioned while holding back her feelings for the good general. She remembered what he did in 2006.  
  
_**2006**_  
  
At the inquiry board in the ministry of defense, Major Valentina Vostok was convinced the military brass would be sending her to Kamchatka for the rest of her career. It was not fair for her. General Georgriy had forced himself on her and she was being punished. It just wasn't fair.  
  
The board chairman arrived and everyone stood up. Her defense was a military lawyer a good one but she knew it was to make things look good for the public. It was a sham, she shattered a general's balls and he was connected to most of the aviation industries in the EC. She was royally fucked three ways from Sunday.  
  
She sat down when the chairman sat down, the rest of the generals and colonels sat down. The Marshal of Aviation read a statement from a paper.  
  
"Before we make the our judgment today we have a man speaking on the behalf of the defendant. You may show in the character witness." the doors were opened by MPs. In walked in the fifty-one year old Colonel General Yevgeny Kozar. Valentina was amazed that he came to defend her. A man that likely would be a future commander-in-chief of Aerospace Forces.  
  
He was sworn in and he gave a speech defending her to the board. It was long but passionate. It was why instead of a career in Kamchatka she would be sent to Siberia as a pilot possibly. But what she remembered was to the part that defended her actions. "So a superior, a general, forces himself on a woman we trained in self defense and with the ability to defend the Eurasian Coordinate and with radiation abilities and flight! She could have dropped him from the tallest building in the city. But Major Vostok pushed Colonel General Georgriy off of herself and caused damage to his testicles. Yes, she caused harm to a superior but that superior tried to force himself on her. I see punishing her like this as cruel and that we should show her off as a an asset to the world to prove that we too are progressive that we too are flawed and are striving to be better. Instead of that we cover up these issues in our military. I feel throwing her to the wolves is unfair."  
  
_**Present**_  
  
The Colonel got out of the bathroom and walked to the elevator she had to investigate the crash. She then walked into General Olegovich, "Sir why are you here?" she asked, voice cracking.  
  
"I can't let you investigate Chief Marshal Kozar's death. You knew him and it would be impossible for you to be impartial." the chief replied. "First off it is out of our jurisdiction, second the GRU is leading the investigation and finally, the Interstate Aviation Committee and the Federal Air Transport Agency are also on the scene. It is probably the same suspect but we have to wait with the investigation on their end. But if we get reports of a flying man you're to get out and get him." Olegovich replied.  
  
She nodded, she wanted to make this man suffer but she would have to wait.  
  
**Elsewhere...**  
  
Diana was leaning on a chair watching an orb. She saw Ares reappear, he still was wearing the suit with the ascot. "Colonel Jacob Kane?"  
Ares smirked, "It is something I am setting up. Kane is someone that will definitely convince the Russians, or at least enough moderates to start on the path I am making."  
  
"Path? I know you mean war, path? Really? Path?" Diana complained. "You know he won't get the case."  
  
"Of course! The man with the case would be long gone by that time. But the body count is what matters. Alas poor Thangarian he is merely a distraction for the real objective." Ares boasted.  
  
Diana huffed. "You like plans too much. Just detonate a bomb and get it over with."  
  
Ares glared at Diana, "That's no fun Diana." His face softened slightly.  
  
"Look, this is the one I have set up that is most likely to succeed without too much alien help. The Russians are reliable on paranoia and having plenty of plans. I am confident this is where the next World War begins."  
  
"And if it doesn't end how you want?" Diana asked skeptically.  
  
"Then we improvise." Ares said with a sinister glint in his eye.

 **Above Moscow**  
  
The Moscow Police Department like many major cities had an aviation unit. The city had eight helicopters a couple of Kamov Ka-26, one Mi-8, an Mi-17, and four Kamov Ka-226.  
  
This helicopter was piloted by two veteran pilots of the Moscow Police Aviation unit. The older pilot was a man who flew in the border skirmishes with Ukraine. The younger flew over Chechnya.  
  
The junior pilot/navigator/ camera operator was looking over the skyline. They were told by command to be on the look out for a flying man with wings. He scanned the skyline, sure he would see naked ladies from time to time but today it was serious, two dead marshals, two dead ministers and countless others.  
  
"So as I was saying, this broad came to me in the camp and asked if I flew a Hind." the older pilot told his younger peer, "I say yes and she takes off her robe and all that other stuff and she is stark naked before me. We explore each other's bodies like an anatomy exam."  
  
"Bullshit!" replied the younger pilot. He then focused on something in the distance.  
  
"It was not bullshit!" the older pilot replied.  
  
"It is..." The younger pilot, the gasped. "Oh Fuck!"  
  
"What?" the pilot turned his head.  
  
"It's the birdman!" he pointed. "He's heading away from Red Square."  
"Heading?" the pilot asked.  
The co-pilot looked at the direction of the birdman's flight.  
"The Defense Ministry!"  
The pilot radioed it in.  
"Attention, attention! Moscow control center. Attention! Attention! This is Airborne unit 3, we have spotted the birdman! he's heading towards the Defense Ministry inform all units, Birdman heading in direction of the Defense Ministry!"  
  
**Below at the Ministry of Defense**  
  
The alarm from the police department caused the ministry to go into lockdown. While the Minister of Defense and the Deputy Defense Minister were at Moscow 2 the Chief of the General Staff was here. He was reviewing security arraignments with other generals about the dead general staff officers. The marshal of the Eurasian Coordinate was more concerned that this was a move by Ukraine. His aide with a heavy suitcase was equally concerned.  
  
When the alarm sounded he and the other generals were rushed to the station below the ministry and were going to be evacuated quickly from the building. The train from a nearby Metro 2 station would come in two minutes.  
  
In the building proper workers were being rushed to shelters. Hundreds of non-combat, non-emergency personnel were being put into the nearest shelters.  
  
The emergency personnel and security men were getting armor on, honor guard troops were striping themselves of ceremonial SKS rifles and formal hats and caps. Exchanging them for AK-74, helmets and modern body armor. Heavy weapons were being brought out by security,  
  
**On the streets of Moscow...**  
  
In a Lada police car with sirens blaring, she was kicking herself mentally. How was it this guy was showing up to kill another marshal? Why now?  
The police car screamed down busy streets joining other her car's siren soon joining a symphony of sirens from Police vehicles to traffic police, OMON and other units.  
  
She was still upset that the suspect was stepping up his game attacking a well defended target in broad daylight. She hoped they activated hero groups and the Red Rocket Brigade, Moscow Unit to fight him.  
  
_"All units all units suspect is armed and dangerous, repeat suspect armed and dangerous. Suspect likely a metahuman repeat suspect likely a meta human. Lethal force authorized, maiming target authorized as well. Repeat: Lethal Force Authorized, maiming target authorized as well!"_  came the chiefs voice over the radio  
  
Being led by traffic police car a column of armored vehicles, army trucks, and jeeps were racing for the ministry. These were vehicles with autocannons, anti-tank missiles, and anti-air weapons. The tracked vehicles made their way towards the area. Ambulances, Fire engines, vans of the Emergency Gas Service, and cars and other vehicles of the Ministry of Emergency Situations was deployed.  
  
Unnoticed by the police and army troops were vehicles filled with many Ukrainians and Americans. These cars, trucks, and vans were not special to anyone except one man. These vehicles would be the key to war. Inside the vehicles were weapons explosives and body armor.  
  
They were driving out of Moscow towards their destination, Sheremetyevo International Airport.  
  
**The Ministry of Defense**  
  
The white walled building was a masterpiece of Soviet Brutalist style. Plenty of window and bland walls. It was made to old government offices and not be pretty. They recently added some trees and some features to give it an Imperial Russian look. It was an odd setting for a battle site villains typically picked Red Square and the Kremlin (All sites in that area), the Bolshoi, Gorky Park, Fallen Statue Park, the various muesums and Poklonnaya Gora.  
  
Outside the ministry, soldiers of ministry of defense protection unit were preparing for battle. Getting machine guns, submachine guns, handguns, shotguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles, and grenades. They didn't know when the enemy would come but they figured he would land in the front courtyard. Bad guys liked drama. The Red Rocket Brigade would arrive soon.  
  
The soldiers were waiting for the enemy. They knew he would come soon.  
  
They didn't have to wait long. landing suddenly in the courtyard was the winged man. The soldiers readied their weapons. The commanding officer, a colonel, pointed his AK-74U at the man. He commanded at the top of his lungs, "You! Put down your weapons and get on your stomach! We will fire if you fail to comply!" The winged man stared at the colonel. The winged man smiled and leapt to attack  
  
"FIRE!" the soldiers fired their weapons at the man and let off volleys after volleys of rounds at the man. Some were missing but most were actually hitting the man though if it left a scratch it healed quickly. Hawkman hit a soldier with his mace, the man was reduced to blood, bone fragments, remaining limbs, and other viscera. The soldiers screamed in anger others let out cries of panic. Hawkman then hit a man with his wing sending him flying into an arriving jeep's windshield. The machine gunner in the jeep fired his PKU Machine gun at Hawkman. Hawkman jumped into the air and hit a dozen soldiers with his mace. He then smashed his mace into the hood of the jeep causing it to flip over.  
  
Half of the men were dead the others were crying in agony as Hawkman jumped up to fly and land on one of the smaller wings of the building. On top of the wing twenty soldiers opened fire at him. Katar began to swing at the men on the roof hitting some with his mace and punching a few of the roof onto the ground below.  
  
In the Metro 2 station below the Chief of General Staff, Marshal of the Eurasian Coordinate Girgori Doroshevitch and his staff were loaded onto a special metro train out of the area. It would head to a Moscow 2 bunker safe and sound far away from the threat.  
  
**Sheremetyevo International Airport  
Moscow Federal City  
**  
At the Eurasian Coordinate's busiest airport people were heading into the Terminal D for flights to other countries. This was the main hub for Aeroflot and their primary terminal the new Terminal replaced an older one. it was on the south side of the airport as were most of the passenger term. The convoy of vehicles would get off of the M-11 motorway and head to their destinations in the airport. Two taxis would park near busy exits of the airport. A box truck would park in the parking structure. The main group of personnel would disembark from vans in the employee areas of the airport. Until it was needed they would remain quiet before going loud.  
  
The entered the area that their police contact said would be devoid of security.  
  
The first team pulled out their weapons, machine guns, shot guns and rifles. The second team had the RPO Shmel rockets. This would certainly big a gigantic FU to President Lebed. The Iron Brigade with American support would crack Russia into a billion pieces! This attack would shatter the Russian public's will to support the war along the Ukrainian Border.  
  
This would show Moscow and the weaklings in Washington and Kiev that Russia could be taken down a peg or two! IF they couldn't protect their own people what would people do! Revolt! Marshal Lebed would die and a coup would happen in Russia! They dreamed of a destroyed Russia. Millions of Russians revolting would lead to a civil war and a nuclear conflict.  
  
**The Ministry of Defense  
Moscow Federal City**  
  
Colonel Vostok's car stopped a few blocks from the action. She saw OMON troops and National Guard troops holding back the crowd of on lookers. The media already was here. They were probably broadcasting it. While freedom of the press was not huge here in the EC the average reporter learned how to spring up on officials and surprise them. But super battles drove ratings up for the network that carried it. People were bored of the Western films or the shows they got here in Russia. The favorite hero of the Russian people that was quasi-registered was The Cossack. Sure everyone loved the registered heroes but the bad boys attracted women and men in droves.  
  
But Valentina had little time to worry about what the press thought. Her focus was stopping this mad man. She took off her detective clothes and put on her old hero suit in her car. She was legally required to be a registered hero as apart of the police. She struggled with the outfit, it was essentially a modified flightsuit so if she went up high she would not get hypoxic. also it had a parachute in it incase she went to high and would get stuck in a plate spinning as she descended.  
  
"Oh god this is a terrible idea!" she said zipping up and keeping the bandages on. She got out of the car and began to look at the building. She would have to follow the sound of gun fire. She would get chewed out by Olegovich but desperate times.  
  
The Negative Woman flew again. She was steady as a rock she still practiced. She flew over the ministery wearing the gaudy red outdt they made for her. It might as well scream "shoot me please!"  
  
As she flew Valentina saw KGB Snipers taking positions on nearby buildings. They were running with massive rifles Valentina knew the KGB were going to use 14.5 mm anti-material rifles against the birdman. Army Snipers and anti-aircraft guns were setting  
  
She flew to the 10 floor of the main building. She saw many soldiers on the floor dead, wounded, and retreating. She levitated down to the floor. Negative Woman was covered in a dark energy and she was ready to attack. Valentina hoped the Rocket Red Brigade would arrive soon. This building was a maze. She would hear gun fire from time to time. The soldiers were running up and down the halls some of them were medics some MPs, and some were lost officers.  
  
Valentina walked down the hall and turned the corner. She saw the shadows of men and what she thought was wings.  
  
She walked carefully and pulled the old Tokarev from her holster and cocked it. She turned around the corner and saw nothing. She needed to find an area and let out her projected self. She found an open janitors closest and sat down and she let out the inner projected self.  
  
Valentina could find the man much easier than going through the mazes of halls that made up the ministry.  
  
She went through offices after offices. She had to go down a few floors there was offices that were still occupied, mostly by drunks. She found the birdman being fired on by a machine gun using a desk as a barrier and a means to steady the weapon. Another soldier pulled out a an RPG-29 at the birdman and fired an Anti-tank rocket.  
  
The smoke cleared and the birdman aside from some scratches was unharmed. He smiled and began to leap to attack the soldiers. Valentina fired an energy blast at the man. The man turned around and began to follow her. The man began swinging his energy mace. Valentina Vostok began to phase through wall after wall and she hoped the man would follow. It sounded like he was following her. The crashing through the walls, and breaking glass. She went out through the walls and was out over the street and waited for the man.  
  
He quickly broke out of the building and swung his mace at the floating form of the Negative Woman. His weapon phased through her. She flew down to the ground. The Birdman was going to follow her however a red form crashed into the being and downed the birdman.  
  
Suddenly landing in front of the street were three mech suits all red. They had the flag of the EC on the side of them. They began to pummel the birdman. The strength these mechs had was well over 700 times their own strength. The sound of breaking bones and flesh hitting metal was sickening. The pilots of the suits were showing no mercy to the man. The beat down would continue for over a minute.  
  
They walked away from the man who looked extremely bloody and broken. Yet the man got up, he coughed up blood and his arms and legs were broken. He was near the Moscova River. He lifted the mace above his head and was ready to attack the robots.  
  
CRACK!  
  
Katar realized something he couldn't feel his left arm. Katar looked at his left arm, except it wasn't there. He was in shock his wings were outstretched. He then heard to more cracks. His wings were in agony. Katar fell in a heap. He was in agony. The mace fell into the river. Valentina saw the police and soldiers run up to the man to ensure he was disarmed.  
  
Her phantom form landed and she was tired. She hoped the day was done.  
  
  
**Sheremetyevo International Airport  
**  
In Terminal D there were many Citizens of the Eurasian Coordinate and foreign nationals were being checked by the officers of the Federal Customs Service. The line was long and the queue was slowly moving. Some people were leaving the country for the first time, some were returning home. whatever the reason the people were feeling the typical boredom of waiting in a line. At least it reminded some of the old Russian way of life.  
  
Near the passport control area an elevator door open out came six men. What was odd about them was they wore body armor and all had guns. Automatic shotguns, rifles, machine guns and grenades. They lined up in a nice line.  
  
At a passport station an officer just stamped a tourist's passport and lifted his head to say next. That was when he saw the six men with guns.  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK!" he screamed. a nearby customs officer turned around and saw the men. The people in the lines were growing worried. The policeman attempted to get his gun that is when the six men opened fire on the police, civilians and anyone that got in their way. The first volley tore through dozens of people killing most because the ammunition used was armor piercing. Those not hit by the volley ran from the line just away.  
  
The survivors ran through over and away from the check point. At another part of the airport four men with RPGs began firing down from a utility platform. Grenades and machine gun bullets followed.  
  
Near the food court near the security area police officers were ripped apart by a man wielding a mini-gun. Police called for help from heroes but it would still take time. Police and others were trying to stop the terrorists.  
  
As hundreds attempted the flee the airport onto the loading and unloading area, a massive 500 kilogram bomb went off. It vaporized many people the immediate area on the lower level of the loading area a 200 kilogram bomb went off. The panicked mob was now running down corridors any corridor to escape certain death.  
  
Some of the mobs sadly rand right back into the terrorists and were gunned down. One mob ran into a man with a mini-gun. A crowd of over a hundred were cut down like a forest.  
  
**Sheremetyevo Air Traffic Control Center**  
  
"Attention! Attention!" screamed the head controller "Sheremteyevo Airport is under attack by unknown forces. Do not land here unless absolutely nescerary! All planes on runways are to head to north side of the airport! All planes on approach are to head to the north side of the airport! All other air traffic head to Domodedovo, Vnukovo, and Zhukovsky. We're working to get other airports to take air traffic. Kubinka Airbase will take air traffic!"  
  
**Sheremetyevo interior corridors  
**  
Janitor Dmitri Yakolev was jostled awaked from his nap by several massive blasts. He thought a plane crashed on the tarmac. The 48 year old janitor opened the door and walked into a nightmare he saw in the corridor outside his closet was several people lying in a heap on the floor. he saw pools of blood around them. He checked for a pulse they were dead but they managed to crawl this far. he followed the blood trail into the main areas near passport control. He heard the crack of gunfire repeatedly. More explosions, though smaller.  
  
Dmitri Yakloev saw a scene that was right out of Afghanistan. Bodies on the ground people killed by the dozens. The scenes brought back memories he'd rather forget. the old balding Russian man would rather never remember Afghanistan. He saw a small girl shaking a woman she looked dead. Dmitiri heard the screams of police, yelling "Feet! aim for the feet!" The gunfire was getting close.  
  
Dmitri ran up to the little girl and grabbed her hand. "Momma get up!" she cried. Dmitri felt for a pulse and found none. He held back a small sob. "Come on Momma is a asleep. " Dmitri grabbed the girl she screamed "Momma!" He took her to the west employee entrance, it seemed like the terrorists had not come this way. He saw a cop dealing with the wounded.  
  
Dmitiri handed the small girl to the police officer and ran back in. Dmitri ran back into the terminal and began to look for injured at great risk to himself he found a wounded American tourist and took him to an area he thought was safe. He repeated the action not once not twice but 55 times. under fire, in safety. Dmitiri saved 55 people from the carnage of the airport.  
  
The police and the military fought the terrorists for minutes until Russian heroes arrived. Red Star, Soyuz, The People's Heroes, even retired heroes arrived liked Pozhar and the Negative Woman. They would fight the terrorists and win easily. Especially when the Rocket Red Brigade came.  
  
But what caught the eye of a Daily Planet photographer was Dmitiri Yakolev rescuing countless people. This was an ordinary man doing something heroic. He took several pictures of Dmitiri but the picture of holding the little girl was the best he thought.  
  
**In Moscow Two**  
  
President Lebed was informed of the airport attack and sat at his desk he turned on the TV and watched the news. He made the decision that whoever was behind the attack he would kill them. He sighed, he was helpless to do much in his bunker.  
  
**The White House  
Washington DC**  
  
"It was too early in the day for this shit" President Lois Lane thought. She was tired by the news of the Moscow attacks against their leadership and the ministry of defense. She just hoped it would pass and nothing would come of this. Perhaps this was some failed coup revenge or something?  
  
President Lane was working the private office of the president off of the Oval Office in the West Wing of the White House. She was reading her Daily Brief when Ron Troupe, her chief of Staff came in. He practically ran in. The African American Chief of Staff stopped before looking at her.  
He looked like he ran from the Situation room.  
  
"What is it Ron?"  
  
"Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport is being attacked by terrorists. Early reports rumor hundreds dead!" replied the chief of staff.  
The President was shocked. "Get Waller and Trevor here or on the phone ASAP!"  
"Right." The Chief of staff ran out of the office.

 _ **GBS programing**  
"Beyond Our Dreams"  
  
"Diane! I love you despite us both being Catholics we can still love each other!" said a busty Blonde to a dark haired black woman  
"Bekka our parents would never allow it! For the pride of the family!" said the busty dark haired black woman.  
"Dammit Diane! Can't you see I am trying to say I love you!" Bekka grabbed Dianne by the hand.They leaned in and began to kiss._  
  
The feed was cut by a big logo font saying GBS Breaking News with [music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSIzLPyzgD8)stating it's importance.  
  


_**Breaking News!** _

 

_**Moscow Attacked!** _

  
The blonde male reporter and anchor Roy Raymond Jr. looked into the camera, he cleared his throat.  
_  
"We interrupt this broadcast due to information coming from the Eurasian Coordinate. Reports indicate that a massive terrorist attack on the Sheremetyevo International Airport is underway. We are cutting to footage from the Euarisan Coordinate Television Network, ECTN."  
  
The footage showed the destroyed facade of  _Sheremetyevo International Airport_ Terminal D. Russian police cars, fire engines, and ambulances were rushing to the scene. Army troops and EC heroes were shown leaping into action.   
  
"The attack began at six o'clock in the evening and are still underway. Police and military forces are directing people away from the airport. Eurasian Coordinate rail authorities are stopping trains heading to  _Sheremetyevo. All air traffic is being diverted from _Sheremetyevo to nearby airports. Police and military authorities are still clearing the area."___  
  
**Jump City  
Oliver's apartment**  
  
While Oliver often slept in the Arrowcave his night of celebrating led to him passed out and hung over. His room was dark thanks to blackout curtains and his head was still spinning. The phone ringed, it was as if his head was being beaten like a kettle drum. He grabbed the cell phone, it was Barbara.  
  
"I was sleeping." groggily rasped Oliver.  
  
"Oliver turn on the TV." Barbara said concerned.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Moscow got hit by terrorists." Barb told Oliver.  
  
"Yeah so it has been going on for a day or two they killed ministers and officials." Oliver paused, "And their security men..."  
  
"Yeah just turn on the TV it is easier to show than tell." Barb told Oliver.  
  
Oliver fuddled to find the remote. He turned on the News it was GBS. The terrorist attack in Moscow was on every channel they were interrupting the regular programming for this. The burning façade of Sheremetyevo Airport Terminal D was on the front. It appeared Moscow was under martial law after the attacks this was not good. Tanks on the street.  
  
**Broadcast over Eurasian Coordinate Television and Radio in the Moscow Area  
**  
"Attention blood banks and hospitals in the Moscow Area are low on plasma and blood types A-, B+, B-, AB-, and AB+. Blood banks will take O blood types."  
  
**White House Press Briefing Room  
**  
The press room of the White House was especially chaotic today as the media was asking the young Latina press Secretary a million questions at once. She was able to handle this but it was still an onslaught. The media vultures wanted news.  
  
"Guys! The President talked with Eurasian President Lebed. President Lane gave Lebed her condolences and offered to help at a moments notice. he was happy to hear the statement."  
  
"Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!" shouted the press corps.  
  
"Yes BBC?" Jamie Reyes pointed at the man in a tweed suit.  
  
"Malcom Fortean, BBC. Does the US government or the Eurasian Coordinate Government have any idea who is responsible?"  
  
"No we are still investigating." Jamie replied.  
  
"You third row...."  
  
**Excerpt from President Lebed's statement to the Eurasian Coordinate's people the next day after the attack.**  
  
_"My fellow citizens these cowardly people think killing over four hundred of our fellow citizens will weaken our resolve. It shall not. Whomever did this, we will get you. Wherever you hide, we will find you. You may hope it we will forget after forty years, we will not. Every person involved in these attacks will face justice. Be that by our courts or by extrajudicial means. However if any state backed this attack we will act in whatever manner is needed. Big or small we will go after any state actor that supported this action."_  President Lebed took a sip of water from a glass of water on his podium. He looked straight into the camera.  _"To my people, we will have our revenge. I promise you that!"_  
  
**BBC News  
_Ukrainian Frist Vice Prime Minister Bojko: Attack in Moscow "Are horrible and we send our condolences."_**  
  
**Eurasian Coordinate Army Special Hospital #3  
**  
The bearded KGB Chairman and the balding bearded Chief of the General Staff stared through the window at the form in the security room in front of them the wings were laid out in front of them as the man's form was in the gurney, tied down with special strength security straps.  
  
"Was the weapon found?" asked the Marshal of the Eurasian Coordinate. The KGB chief shook his head.  
"Police and KGB divers could not find it in the river."  
The Marshal sighed. "Alexander will not be pleased. The President wanted to figure out if that weapon could be reverse engineered."  
The KGB boss shook his head. "It's alien most likely so I doubt it."  
They looked at the man in the security room. He was in a coma but how long before he was awake again.  
  
"The President wants this man transferred to Black Orca." the Marshal glared at the uncurious man.  
"When?" the KGB boss stroked his beard.  
"As soon as we can." Marshal Doroshevich kept his steely gaze on the bird guy.  
"But we still need to interrogate him." Anatoli told his friend.  
"Yes, that will be before his transfer to Black Orca." Doroshevich looked at Knyazev.  
"What do we tell the public?" KGB Chairman Knyazev asked the close friend of the President.  
"That he died. It is for the best they think he is dead."  
"That is easier for the public I think." Knyazev nodded.  
**  
Eleswhere...  
**  
The last thing Shayera Hol remembered was talking to the asshole that called himself Kane. She was handed her mace and he touched her and now she was in a park. Where the hell was she? She was in a park, she felt very weak... it was as if every ounce of energy was sapped from her body.  
  
"Are you okay?" Shayera lept up and tried to lift her mace but she was very weak.she fell over and the man grabbed her. She saw the man was dressed in a tan shirt and dark pants. He looked like a local constable.  
  
"It's fine you got post portal sickness." the constable told her.  
  
"Where... I?" she struggled to say.  
  
"New Ulm, Minnesota, America. I am Deputy Chief Marty Faraday." Replied the young grey haired man.  
  
"Why... here...?" Shayera asked.  
  
"The portal." the deputy chief replied.  
  
"Por-tal?" Shayera replied zapped of energy.  
  
"Yup, something to do with Native America stuff and things like that. We get mostly good folks and good stuff through the portal." The deputy chief snickers, "Of course most of the bad stuff ends up in Mankato though it isn't very bad. Well, guess that is what happens with hanging 33 Native Americans at once. The Deputy Chief walked Shayera to his car holding her up. He noticed the wings attached to her.  
  
"Huh, well I hope they don't think you're angel over at the Catholic Church. Then again I doubt it." In the car Shayera heard [some odd music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF48vrB7U3Y).  
  
"What is... that?" asked the tired Thangarian.  
  
"Polka. Frank Yankovic." replied Deputy Chief Faraday as they drove to the local hospital.  
  
**Iron Brigade Forum "Ukraine Forever!"**  
  
_"WE in the Iron Brigade carried out the attack against Sheremetyevo Airport. The purpose of this attack was to convince the Eurasian Coordinate population that their government cannot save them. It is or revenge against the treatment of Ukrainians in the occupied areas of Novorossiya. This is some of the treatment our people face on a daily basis though the EC army rarely does it with soldiers but by helicopters. We wanted the terror to be felt by the people on ground in Moscow we succeed. Our allies in Kiev supported this action and gave us money political support, and equipment. The Iron Brigade will strike at the heart of the EC again though it will not be where the KGB suspect. Our support overseas will increase with even more attacks against the Eurasian Coordinate."_  
  
**NHK  
_Ukrainian Police begin Arresting Iron Brigade Members in droves._**  
  
**The Next Day  
ARGUS office  
Jump City Federal Building  
**  
Colonel Jacob Kane was stuck on the phone with Defense Secretary Trevor. He hated weeks like this some asshole made a crisis for laughs.  
"I am surprise Moscow hasn't outright invaded the Ukraine." Kane told Trevor. "They want to I know that much."  
  
"Yes, but it would upset Uncle Sam Lebed has shaken up his cabinet. Zastrow is PM, Doroshevich is Defense Minister, Ustropoff as Foreign Minister and many anti-West marshals. ." Trevor told Kane from his Pentagon office.  
  
"Except Olegovich, but they just wanted a cop as interior minister." Kane replied  
  
"Look on the bright side sir, if Echo Charlie invades the Ukraine we can get Lane to side with military options against the Russians." laughed Kane.  
  
"She would too. She hates Lebed. The guy is not a fan of America in his backyard. According to Lois the man acts like he is better than her." Trevor replied over the phone.  
"For all we know Lebed could do nothing we'll see."  
  
Kane sighed, "Steve it's over five hundred dead Russians. That's not including the bird guy's attacks. With his attacks it will be over six hundred."  
"I've seen the number of dead Americans Jake. " Trevor let out his words as if pained.  
"How many?" Jacob Kane asked cautiously.  
"37 Americans."  
"Christ." Jacob stated in shock.  
"19 dead Britons, 7 dead French citizens, 13 dead South Rhealsians, 25 dead Japanese, and 9 dead Canadians. The list is still being worked on."

  
**The Daily Planet**  
_**Sheremetyevo casualties to be over seven hundred dead!  
Thousands still injured.** _

The Eurasian Coordinate Government asks if concerned about loved ones please call their embassy or closest consulate to see where relatives or loved ones are located and their status.

**Kremlin Senate Offices  
Office of the President of the Eurasian Coordinate**  
  
The President of the Eurasian Coordinate wanted to invade Ukraine but knew the Americans could stop them dead. He gazed over the same office Stalin had used before but now it had TV's computers and phones with multiple lines. Yet he wanted to make Ukraine suffer. Sure they were distancing themselves but for god sakes why did this happen.  
  
Yet he made his mind up. Lebed decided to appoint anti-West leaders into offices of influence. He knew Lane and her friends were behind this attack at the airport but he couldn't do a thing. He hated that.  
  
He doubted Lane and her friends would hesitate to attack the EC if Russians attacked them. Americans at the core, Lebed thought wanted to see the total destruction of the Russian peoples. Yet he knew the biggest reason behind his hesitation.  
"Fucking TOOTHPICK." A blackhaired head leaned up from behind the couch in his office. IT was his chief of staff Natalia Spririnova.  
"What sir?" she asked groggily. Lebed knew how to pick them smart and hot. He shook his head now was not the time for that type of screwing.  
"Oh the new death from above." Lebed pointed up. " Oh they claim to be for freedom and democracy and all that shit." Lebed stood up from his chair.  
  
"Let me tell you something Natalia the Americans are just as corrupt as we are if not more so! They claim to be moral whilst having none, claim to want to support international law yet are they on the ICC charter? No! They pulled out because of their "war on terror". I don't get why with a free press the media supports their government at all! Their media should just attack the president for everything! They have a fucking retard running for president as well!" Lebed screamed for a moment.  
  
He had to take in some more air "Actually calling Hank Henshaw a retard is insulting, to the mentally handicapped! That dumb fuck should have been drowned at birth. But what am I to do?"  
  
Sprinova pulled out a cigar and cut it at an end. "What do you mean?"  
  
"How do I screw the Americans without encouraging them to make the necklace of death around our planet of kinetic kill satellites!" Lebed was red in the face, a lack of sleep and the high death toll got to him.  
  
Spririnova lit the cigar and took a puff on it. "Necklace of death. Say the Americans will deny sovereignty to all nations with that. But that is a long term game. But in the near future, Tropidor and Corto Maltese. "  
  
"What about them?" Lebed asked intrigued.  
  
"Back them, maybe not with money but diplomatic support for the governments that aren't pro-Washington and military aide to support the regimes that are our friends. We can get trade partners. And finally." Spririnova took a drag on her cigar, "back Mexico give them what they want."  
  
Lebed cocked his head. "Which is what?"  
  
"Mech-suits. Luthor Corp wants to charge an exorbitant amount for them and Mexico can't afford them but if we swoop in and offer them more for a better price and training for a discount... How friendly will the Mexicans become with us when we offer them more weapons to deal the drug lords they have because of the American need for drugs. We can increase our trade with Mexico and deny them the only thing they love..."  
  
"Money" both Lebed and Spririnova said at the same time.  
  
"But how do I appease the blood thirsty masses?"  
  
"A raid into Ukraine against Iron Brigade leadership." Spririnova took another puff on her cigar. She sauntered over to the president  
  
"Also pull police protection from all American embassy and consulates." Spririnova smirked, "It will send the message get out. They will eventually."  
  
"Now. Mr. President." Spririnova, "Tell me how can I help you get some sleep.  
  
Lebed smiled. "It's good to be the king."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, WW3 is now a serious possibility. 
> 
> And shitty soap operas are the same everywhere.


	4. World's Finest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 (the first of a two-parter focusing on Kate, Harley, Kara, and Lucy) by yours truly, worffan101. 
> 
> I have a couple of villain backstories for this chapter, putting the first one up here for fun.  
> \-----  
> Villain profile: Terrorist leader al-Saud.  
> Name: Omar ibn-Hussein al-Saud.  
> Alias: Various throwaway civilian identities, no costumed identity.  
> Age: 38  
> Appearance: Well-kept swarthy male, approx. 5'11", brown hair and eyes. Physically fit but not unusually so.  
> Backstory: Omar al-Saud was a bored nephew of a minor Saudi prince, nowhere near the throne and with nothing much to do but waste his days partying and driving fast cars. However, one particular act of debauchery involving three prostitutes shipped in from Russia and encouraging a friend to attempt to drive a car out of a skyscraper into another skyscraper got him into huge legal trouble, and he was punished by his family, reduced in circumstances to merely "extremely rich" rather than "unbelievably, absurdly rich". 
> 
> Frustrated and angry, al-Saud got religion. He ignored his family's regular mullah, though, instead listening to a fanatical Wahhabi thinker allied with al-Qaeda In Iraq. Al-Saud developed a psychological need to see America and non-Sunni faiths burn, finally getting a purpose in his life other than mindless debauchery. When AQI became DAESH, al-Saud set up his own group with his massive amounts of money, funding the terrorist organization Black Hand with the goal of infiltrating and destroying America in a guerilla war from the inside. Currently, al-Saud is operating around Metropolis, trying to replicate the 9/11 attacks on a larger scale, and is working with the supervillain Ares, who indirectly funds al-Saud for the strife that his actions cause. 
> 
> Personality: Al-Saud is a callous, racist and misogynistic thug who manipulates vulnerable teenagers to join his organization, then uses them as expendable grunts and suicide bombers. He is Spartan in his personal habits, and is driven by a need to be more personally pure than his minions. Al-Saud is motivated not out of fanaticism and hatred so much as a need for purpose in life, and secretly enjoys the fear and attention that his actions get.

_Petrograd, Eurasian Coordinate. October 8th, 2008._  
  
The interior of Nadezhda Popova’s apartment bubbled with steady conversation. A dozen or so petite, plump women, all with white or gray hair and wearing either old-fashioned blouses or slightly faded uniforms, sat around a couple of folding tables that had been put next to each other, chattering cheerfully about various topics as a tall, buxom blonde who looked to be in her mid-‘20s or early ‘30s leaned over to put another box of biscuits in the middle. A dozen golden stars, indicating their bearers as Heroes of the Soviet Union, glinted from a dozen chests above several inches of campaign ribbons and other medals apiece. The blonde looked over her shoulder at the door as she pulled back.   
  
“Polina Vladimirovna is here,” she announced. A couple of the elderly women looked up, then turned back to their conversations. The blonde pulled back, then sped to the door fast enough to ruffle the old women’s hair.   
  
“Comrade Polina!” Katarina said with a smile as she opened the door. A petite, white-haired woman in a faded Great Patriotic War-era uniform weighed down by what looked to be several dozen pounds of metal and ribbon greeted her, tinfoil covering a large pastry of some sort. “There was no need to bring food…”   
  
“Of course there was, dear.” Hero of the Soviet Union Comrade  _Podpolkovnik_  Polina Gelman (Order of Lenin, twice Order of the Red Banner, twice Order of the Red Star, Order of the Patriotic War, etc. etc.) reached up to pat the towering blonde’s cheek. “You look healthy as ever—is Nadezhda still feeding you enough?”   
  
“She always has,  _Podpolkovnik_ ,” Katarina replied, taking the pastry gently from Polina’s hands. “Take a seat, you’re the last to arrive. Rufina made it just thirty minutes ago.”   
  
“Bah! I apologize—my great-grandson’s bar mitzvah, you know how these things are.”   
  
“Of course, Comrade.” Katarina floated with the pastry over to the kitchen as her sister waved Polina over to the table.   
  
“We’re all here,”  _Podpolkovnik_ Yevdokia Bershanskaya (twice Order of the Red Banner, once Order of the Red Star, and the only woman ever awarded the Order of Suvorov), frailer than the other women since her heart attack in 1982, announced as Heroes of the Soviet Union Rufina Gasheva and Evdokia Pasko moved aside to allow Katarina to sit. “Irina Fyodorovna couldn’t make it, something about taking ill, she says she’ll be fine.” The women muttered quiet prayers for their former comrade-in-arms anyway; they were all getting old, and all knew that none would admit to being on death’s door voluntarily. “It’s been another successful year since Order 0099; my grandson, God have mercy on him, got a good job that doesn’t involve smuggling, Nadezhda Vasil’yevna has set up a wonderful party as always, and Katarina is as lovely as ever.” That brought a chuckle from the assembled women and a blush from Katarina. “Now, we’re never going to match the party we had on the 5th of July,” the frenzied orgy of looted drinks, patriotic singing, having Katarina light Nazi flags on fire, and frantic sex with any available Soviet man (or woman, in a couple of cases), that had immediately followed the victory at Berlin and Katarina’s capture of Adolf Hitler, “but I think we can make a spirited attempt.”   
  
The other women laughed, nodding along. They  _always_  made that attempt; the victories of their comrades and the glory of the regiment needed to be celebrated and upheld, after all. And besides, that party had been  _really_  necessary after four years of hellish war; you got a special kind of wild in the heady elation of victory.   
  
“So!” Bershanakaya exclaimed, raising her own glass. “To our victory, Comrades! To the comrades we have lost, and to the glory of our regiment!” The women cheered and toasted, a dozen gold stars of the Hero of the Soviet Union glinting in the candlelight, then downed their shots of vodka. Or in Katarina’s case, a full bottle—her superhuman biology rendered her effectively incapable of getting drunk.   
  
The women began to turn to each other, splitting into groups to re-share old war stories for the dozenth time and pick at the biscuits. Katarina stood and took flight, not bothering to walk as she weaved through her elderly comrades with tea refills.   
  
“You are still not wearing the costume?” Polina asked as Katarina poured her some more tea.   
  
“No, Comrade Polina. I have no more love for Marshal Lebed than I did for Stalin.”   
  
Polina nodded in understanding. “I don’t hate Lebed as much as  _Сталин свинья_ , but I understand.” She sipped her tea daintily. “So are you still seeing that lovely young woman, what was her name, Anastasia Kirilovna?”   
  
“I wasn’t  _seeing_  her,” Katarina protested. “Nadezhda just wanted me to…”   
  
Polina slapped her shoulder gently. It was like slapping a brick wall. “Oh, hush. It’s your own fault you don’t have a nice girl, you know, if you can’t get out and take the poor dear out you’ll never get married no matter how much Nadezhda tries to help.” Katarina was blushing so deep she was almost maroon. “Now, I have a more serious matter.”   
  
“Oh?” Katarina leaned in.   
  
“What I said about wearing the costume? I’ve been contacted by men working for the KGB. Marshal Lebed is interested in you, apparently.”   
  
Katarina nodded. “I see. You think I need an exit?”   
  
Polina shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt.” The white-haired Hero of the Soviet Union took a long drag at her tea. “I’ve been talking to soldiers—younger boys, you understand, colonels and majors, they stop by my niece’s little café and like to talk to me.” She chuckled. “I think they like my medals; maybe Lenin’s head is back in fashion. But what I learned, Lebed is pushing for a new metahuman or metahuman team under government control. They’re investigating you, as well, pulling old records from the Union.”   
  
“My deal with Stalin was that the records would be destroyed.”   
  
“We both know that that bastard could be trusted as far as I or Rufina Sergeyevna could throw him,” Polina replied, and Katarina grimaced in acknowledgement. “Can Nadezhda Vasil’yevna travel?”   
  
Katarina winced. “On a short-term basis, perhaps. But not a full move, that would be too stressful.” She turned her head a few degrees towards where her sister was laughing at a hyperbolic war story from a woman wearing two Orders of Lenin and a Hero of the Soviet Union star. “She has aged well, as we all have, but…”   
  
Polina grimaced. “I understand. Travelling here was hard enough for me, I had to have my grandniece with me most of the way.”   
  
“Exactly. So a move to America—easiest to slip in through the cracks, their intelligence agencies are bloated and incompetent these days and won’t question a Russian travelling on her own—is impossible for now.”   
  
“You are planning, though?”   
  
Katarina nodded. “We’ve been saving up money for years, and I have been looking into fake papers just in case. We’re still thinking up a name for my new identity.”   
  
“Good. Hopefully you won’t need it; Nadezhda Vasil’yevna ought to live another five or ten years, she’s healthy as a horse.”   
  
Katarina chuckled. “Indeed. And hopefully Marshal Lebed will not be a problem. At least, not for a few years.”   
  
Polina grimaced. “I’ve been talking with the girls, and we want you to stay safe, Kara.” Katarina stiffened—her Kryptonian birth-name was only used by her comrades when things were deadly serious. “Lebed is apparently very angry that the Defenders of the Motherland defected, and the people are becoming restive in the Coordinate-held regions of Ukraine.”   
  
“Of course. We have long memories, after all.” The Holodomor was still well-remembered in the former Ukrainian SSR, and the East Ukrainians—or rather Novorossiyans, if you were to listen to Lebed—were always a thorn in Moscow’s side with their desire for reunion with West Ukraine.   
  
“Precisely. But that means that he might shoot without thinking—and if Nadezhda Vasil’yevna or others of your family are in the way…”   
  
“I understand.” Katarina bent down and gently encircled the plump elderly woman with both Herculean arms. “Thank you for letting me know, Polina Vladimirovna.”   
  
“It was nothing, Katarina Vasil’yevna; what are friends for, after all? I’ll put you in contact with some gentlemen that my cousin’s son knows—not strictly  _legal_  gentlemen, but they’ll get you to America with false citizenship data, for a price. Oh, would you please pass the biscuits? I would like one before I go and correct Natalya Fyodorovna on the matter of that time we fought  _Der Übermensch_  over Kursk.”   
  
“I’ll referee this one,” Katarina announced sternly. “Can’t have any squabbles at our regimental brunch.”  
  
“Oh, Katarina, when was the  _last_  time we had a squabble?”   
  
“Last year, Nadezhda and Irina Fyodorovna argued over who destroyed more Panzers at Dnipropetrovsk. The year before, you and Rufina argued over whose tail gunner killed more Messerschmitts. The year before, it was you and Nadezhda Vasil’yevna unable to agree on who got that Tiger II on the mission outside Warsaw. And who can forget the argument of 2004, where the dispute over the Yak-7 versus the La-5 as a fighter support and the necessity of such support in our regiment when I have superior speed and firepower to any aircraft available at the time spiraled into a larger dispute over whose son was more of a disgrace to her family and Irina Fyodorovna stopped talking to you for several months…”   
  
“Alright, alright, I get the point,” Polina muttered. Katarina smiled internally. You could add sixty years to a woman’s age and take her out of the plane, but you’d never take the fighting spirit out of the Night Witches.   
  
She took Polina’s warning to heart, though. She had no desire to be coerced into working for Marshal Lebed; it was high time to get out of Russia.   
  
***  
  
_Highway 9, between Corville and Metropolis. 4:30 PM, June 27th, 2015._  
  
“ _…speaking today before the Federal Assembly, President Lebed received a standing ovation for his address._ ” The pretty-sounding newsreader’s voice faded, and a harsh, growling baritone followed.  
  
“ _The Eurasian Coordinate is a powerful nation with a long, proud history behind it, and such nations are not cowed by the banditry of a few malcontents_ ,” the voice declared. “ _The Republic of Novorossiya is a sovereign nation and a member of the Coordinate by the will of its people, and the peoples of Russia, Byelorussia and Kazakhstan are pledged to uphold the will of our Novorossiyan brothers and sisters. Like the bear that the world has so often associated with the power of Mother Russia, we will defend our cubs to the last bullet in our guns and the last breath in our lungs. We would do so if the whole world marched against us, and we will certainly do so against criminal gangs and their puppet masters in the fascist clique that currently rules the Ukraine_.”  
  
“ _The President gave a similar address at a public event honoring a number of female veterans of the Second World War, and added a number of references to the ‘interference’ of foreign powers in the region…_ ”  
  
Kate reached over from behind the Winnebago’s wheel and turned the radio down. “By ‘foreign powers’, he means us, of course.”  
  
Harley seemed to be intent on playing with a yo-yo, but she nodded. “Damn Commies.”  
  
“Nah, they’re…” Kate paused. If there was one thing the Eurasian Coordinate weren’t, it was Communist, but just what they  _were_  could be hard to pin down at times. “They’re whatever Marshal Lebed says they are,” she finished.  
  
Harley grimaced. “Y’know, Red… Usually I wouldn’t pay much mind ta this, but with everythin’ that’s been goin’ on…” She paused. “Ya think Ares is behind this?”  
  
“I don’t know. He’ll definitely be looking to take advantage of it.” Kate sighed deeply. “Queen Hippolyte says that their seers have been having more and more visions of Ares and his artefacts. And they’re all centering here, North America.”  
  
It wasn’t hard to see why. The United States was the single most powerful country in the world – oh, Britain, Japan, the  _Union Européenne_ and China were all major military and economic powers, but they didn’t have the same reach as the US or EC – and anything that hurt America or brought it down would cause hardship and strife in every corner of the world.  
  
There was brief quiet, then Harley piped up again. “So Red…this Titan’s Blood stuff, is it  _actual_  Titan’s Blood, or is it just somethin’ ya cook up in a lab?”  
  
Kate laughed. “Harley-girl…I lived with the Amazons for quite a while, and even I couldn’t tell you if, say, my armour is magic or just some crazy-advanced technology. My  _money’s_  on tech, but…” She shook her head. “But whatever it is – whatever any of it is – Titan’s Blood is horribly dangerous. You saw what someone on it could do.”  
  
“Eh, we’ve fought worse. An’ they go down if ya hit ‘em enough.”  
  
“True, but something that can turn normal people into super-strong tanks in the blink of an eye… Too much of that around, and law enforcement gets overwhelmed. You saw how they struggled against even a few of Isley’s failed experiments. An army of thugs on Blood…”  
  
“Point. Still, though…do we  _haveta_  go ta Metropolis?” There was a definite whine in Harley’s voice.  
  
“Hey, don’t blame me. Blame the fact that the bull was seen there briefly before coming to Jump City.” Or rather, the man beneath the mask. Johnny had managed to get several pictures off traffic cameras, including one of two cars meeting in the city's warehouse district, and the bull taking a Samsonite briefcase from another man.  
  
_Someone here has, or had, the Titan's Blood that was used in the assassination attempt. Someone in this city is a lieutenant of Ares, and might be able to lead us further up the chain._  
  
“But it’s so  _booooring_  in Metropolis.  _Way_  too clean an’ quiet.”  
  
Kate sighed. Harley sounded adorably petulant, but… When she mentioned ‘boring’, Kate got anxious for her. She’d only ever picked up bits and pieces about Harley’s life before their first encounter, but the one way that Harley kept describing it was ‘when I was boring’. Always said with a slight edge of anger.  
  
_What the_ hell  _did her stepmother do to her_? The protective instinct filled Kate’s heart. “How about this, Harley-girl. Because I’m dragging you to Metropolis…you get to drag me to everywhere you want – stores, amusement parks, movies, whatever – and I’ll pick up the bill.”  
  
Harley looked at her consideringly, then snuggled up to her. “An’ I get ta pick somethin’ new for you ta wear, an’ you can’t refuse no matter what it is. No matter how colourful or weird or slutty or all three.”  
  
“Done.”  
  
“An’ we gotta get completely blasted one night while we’re here.”  
  
“Also done.”  
  
“An’ we get a puppy.”  
  
“…I’ll think about it.”  
  
“Yay!” Harley hugged Kate hard. “You’re great. Even if ya decided ta drive us rather’n take a plane.”  
  
The road trip had taken a while, Kate admitted. But… “No risk of attracting attention this way. And besides, it’s easier to bring our costumes.”  
  
“I’d feel better if this wasn’t such an old Winnebago. It looks like it got stolen from that series, the one with the meth…”  
  
That was sadly true. On the outside, anyway. Kate had refit the inside personally, making sure it was good and comfortable. And had a small lab, as well as the usual fittings. And some hidden weapons. But…yeah, the outside looked kind of sleazy. “On the other hand, Harley-girl…could we have shared a bed on a plane? Could we have watched all those movies we watched every time we pulled in? Could we have snuggled over  _Casablanca_? It was slow, but way more fun.”  
  
“Be more fun if you’d let me drive.”  
  
“No.”  
  
***  
  
_Near Metropolis. 10:00 AM, June 28th, 2015._  
  
Hank Henshaw grimaced as he got out of his SUV and looked over the dingy warehouse. “You shitting me, Sean?” Henshaw’s driver shut the door behind him as the business mogul straightened his jacket. “You set up a meet  _here_? I coulda had these boys at one of my HankCorp hotels.”   
  
“Trust me, Hank,” Sean Bentley assured the candidate, carrying a large briefcase. “These guys are like my people, only they fight for different reasons. You gotta meet them on their turf or they spook.”   
  
Henshaw grunted noncommittally. Bentley continued.   
  
“Besides, how would it look if the press caught you meeting with the Black Hand’s leaders at Henshaw Tower two days before they launch an attack? Or worse, that Power Woman slut? You’d look like a cuck and you’d lose the election for sure.”   
  
“Alright, you’ve got a point, Sean,” Henshaw admitted. He straightened his tie. “Still, why do I have to be here? I’ve got a tee off with a guy from Russia, secret service or something, really nice guy, likes my penthouse, in two hours.”   
  
“Don’t worry, you’ll make your date with the KGB. Sir.” Bentley almost forgot the  _sir_  as he walked up to the warehouse door and rapped out a series of sharp knocks.   
  
A slot opened in the door, and a gun muzzle poked out. “Password?”   
  
“Uh, ‘death to the infidel’?”   
  
“Come in.” The door unlocked and the gun was withdrawn. Bentley waved Henshaw forwards.   
  
A balaclava-clad man in a black shirt and worn jeans opened the door and kept his gun pointed at the ceiling as Bentley and Henshaw entered. “Omar al-Saud is waiting for you. Past the warehouse floor, in the offices, second door on the right.”   
  
Bentley nodded. Bandana-wearing young men looked up warily from the warehouse floor as the politician and the ex-hedge fund manager passed by an open doorway. Henshaw knew enough no to look closely.   
  
Omar al-Saud was a middle-aged, swarthy man with a bushy beard, sitting behind a desk in a makeshift office. He looked up as Bentley and Henshaw entered, and held out a hand to the former with a look of mild distaste. “Welcome, disgusting infidel.”   
  
“Welcome to America, you godless terrorist bastard,” Bentley replied, accepting and shaking the hand.   
  
Al-Saud grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Strong words. Have some tea.” Bentley accepted; it was good tea, a hot mint affair that was easy on the palate. Henshaw just sat, and al-Saud raised an eyebrow.   
  
Bentley elbowed his boss. “Accept the tea, Hank, you gotta show some respect.”   
  
“We’re only working with these ragheads for convenience, why should we…”   
  
“Because this way, we get the attack we want at the time we want, if you don’t show some respect they’ll set their own schedule.” Bentley explained it like he was talking to an infant. Henshaw nodded, at first awkwardly, then more sure, not wanting to look like an idiot.   
  
“Ok, yeah, I knew that.” He took the tea he was offered and noisily slurped it down.   
  
“So,” al-Saud said, turning back to Bentley. “Our mutual friend informed me that you would have a delivery?”   
  
“That would be correct,” Bentley nodded. “Here’s how it’s gonna work. We give you the chemicals, you use them to take some hostages, real flashy shit, including the mayor, then kill them after leading the cops on for a few hours with negotiations. Get those libtard sissy cucks out of our hair, and you get to kill some infidels. Got it?”   
  
“Why should I not just have Faisal here shoot you and your pet cretinous oaf, take the chemicals, and do as I wish with them?” al-Saud challenged. The cell leader didn’t even bother hiding his disdain for Henshaw.   
  
“Because Mr. Henshaw’s driver has a dead man’s switch, and if you don’t send us back out within fifteen minutes he’s calling the police. Don’t be a cuck, raghead, we showed you some respect so roll with the plan.”   
  
“Show me the chemical,” al-Saud ordered. Bentley nodded, then opened his briefcase. Henshaw managed to force his outraged ego to settle down with Herculean effort and leaned forwards as al-Saud did the same.   
  
“Titan’s Blood,” Bentley explained with a dark grin. “It makes you temporarily super-strong, super-tough, and super-fast. Category three, this is the good stuff. There’s enough in here for twenty doses. Owner’s manual comes with the case.”   
  
Al-Saud considered the vials for a moment, then looked up. “Make no mistake, Mr. Bentley, this does not mark the beginning of an alliance. You are still an infidel son of a pig, and we only work with you because of our mutual friend and your coincidental support of some platforms of proper Sharia law.” Bentley nodded with a  _continue_  gesture, that had been expected. “But you will have your attack. When and where?”   
  
“In two days,” Henshaw jumped in. “Make it a nice morning attack on the ‘30th, let the media get their stuff and then start killing hostages at noon. City Hall, go ahead and kill cops, they’re all soft in Metropolis anyway.”   
  
Bentley nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Uh, sir. And raghead? Be fucking flashy about it. Say that you hate America’s freedoms and that Christians are your enemy. Don’t give the cucks any ammo, got it?”   
  
“Of course.” Al-Saud grinned. “You will have your attack. Now leave.”   
  
The meeting’s end was as sudden and unlikely as its beginning. Bentley elbowed Henshaw to shut him up before he could yell at the terrorist for daring to give him orders, then closed the briefcase and set it on the desk. The man in the balaclava followed them out.   
  
As Henshaw shut his car door, Bentley let out a whoosh of breath and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Damn. That went better than I expected.”   
  
“That bastard called us infidels and insulted me!” Henshaw protested.   
  
“But we got the attack we needed, and that’s what matters,” his campaign manager countered. Henshaw opened his mouth, shut it, and consented to simply nod in grudging agreement to avoid looking like an idiot.   
  
He’d been doing a lot of that recently.   
  
***  
  
_Long Avenue, Metropolis. 09:50 AM, June 28th, 2015._  
  
Kate sighed to herself. So far, things had been… less than productive, to say the least.  
  
“Well,  _this_  ain’t goin’ well,” Harley observed, blowing a bubble of gum and popping it.  
  
“I noticed.” Kate looked down at the map of the city in her hands, then crossed out another marker.  
  
They’d spent their first morning in the Big M trying to retrace the Bull’s steps, see if they led anywhere worth following. At the same time, Harley had been talking to Johnny right the way through, getting him to try to see if there was any kind of fractious dissent happening in Metropolis right now.  
  
The obvious, though unlikely, was that Hank Henshaw was on the campaign trail. But Kate had to say: while he was the right  _type_  for Ares in terms of liking strife, he was far less intelligent than most of the people the God of War cultivated.  
  
That said, Johnny had found some interesting Metropolis-related chattered from far-right groups and from Islamists, but nothing definite yet. It was a start, though, particularly the Islamist connection given Deghayes’ involvement in the Jump City attack. Johnny was going to get back to them if he found anything actually concrete. Hopefully, that’d happen soon…  
  
“Not really much else we can do until Johnny lets us know, Red,” Harley said cheerfully. “Nobody we tried talking to saw anything…”  
  
_Probably because you’re in heavy Goth makeup, and wearing an open leather jacket over a sports bra._ The thought was more amused than anything else, though. And Harley was right: nobody had seen anything, apparently. And none of the areas they’d visited had anything unusual about them, either to look at or on-line. “Point. Sorry I dragged you up so early for a waste of time.”  
  
“Eh, nobody ever said savin’ the world was easy. But I think that we should do somethin’ other’n just walk around…”  
  
Kate nodded. “Fair enough. Shopping?”  
  
“Yay!” Harley linked arms with Kate, pressing close to the taller woman. “An’ I’ve had all morning to think about how I wanna dress you up, Red…”  
  
* * *  
  
“How about them?”  
  
The leader of the small group of men followed his friend’s pointing hand. His eyes narrowed as he saw the two women link arms. “Yeah, they’ll do.” He growled slightly as he watched them together, a mixture of rage and guilty arousal filling his mind. “They’ll do just fine.”  
  
He felt his fists balling, and the adrenaline coursing through his body.  _Filthy degenerates. We’ll put the fear of God into ‘em._  
  
***  
  
_Karen Starr’s apartment, Metropolis. 10:00 AM, June 28th, 2015_.   
  
Lucy Lane yawned and rubbed her eyes with one hand as she entered Power Woman’s apartment, her left holding her coffee as Jimmy Olsen led the way. “You know what this is about?” she asked Maggie Sawyer, the police officer tagging along at her side.   
  
“Nope. Olsen just called and said to meet me here.” Lucy grunted in response. That was odd.   
  
“Tea is in the samovar, Earl Grey as usual,” Karen Starr threw over her shoulder. “Let me get some biscuits out; I hadn’t expected guests.”   
  
“It’s alright, we can be quick,” Olsen assured her. “We just needed to talk about something you might have omitted from our discussion about your background.”   
  
“Oh?” Lucy and Maggie took the sofa as Karen pulled up a chair for herself. Olsen just stood.   
  
“Yes. I noticed during your speech that you referred to a specific model of Soviet aircraft from the 1950s when talking about your speed limit. An American would have referred to an F-86 Sabre.”   
  
Lucy felt Maggie tense beside her as Karen leaned back, her inhumanly powerful muscles flexing. “Go on.”   
  
“I knew I recognized that picture on your mantelpiece, by the Order of Lenin. Lucy looked up the serial number for me yesterday before…ah, her night out. That was registered to one Junior Lieutenant Katarina Vasil’yevna Popova, Hero of the Soviet Union, a member of the 588th Night Bombers Regiment, later 43rd Guards Ground-Attack Fighter Regiment, officially designated the “People’s Angels”. We did some fairly rigorous searches, and found that Katarina Popova disappeared off the face of the Earth about three years ago—right about the time that your conclusive paper trail appears.”   
  
“Your point, Mr. Olsen.”   
  
“Interestingly, Katarina Popova is not shown in any of the publicity photos or group shots of the People’s Angels, nor could I find any pictures definitively of her from later military celebrations. The woman who  _is_  shown in those publicity pictures, though, is a woman much like yourself—a tall blonde with flight and invulnerability powers called the Red Star.”   
  
Karen raised an eyebrow. Olsen crossed his arms.   
  
“When were you going to tell us that you’re the single most powerful metahuman on record, Ms. Popova?”   
  
“I wasn’t.” Karen crossed her own arms, kicking back in her chair. “I buried Katarina Popova. That identity died with Nadezhda on Christmas three years ago.”   
  
“Where have you been all this time?”   
  
“Retired.” She stood, brushing past Olsen to stand in front of the rack of medals. “You know, of course, of the savagery of the Eastern Front. You know what we were marching through during the conquest of Poland.”   
  
“Yes, we do learn about that in school here in America.”   
  
“Good. But you cannot understand what it was like to live it.” Karen—the  _Red Star_ —turned, something hollow and dark in her eyes. “I was a girl, barely twenty years old. I had no love for that murderous pig Stalin, he starved my adopted family, but the Nazis killed my brother. I signed up with Nadezhda—she was my older sister, I loved her deeply.” She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “She was always there to help me in the early years, when my senses overwhelmed me and my strength scared Leonid. I followed her to the War, but she was shot down over Leningrad. I could not hide anymore; my rage broke through, and I saved her before destroying every Nazi I could see. I killed thousands of men that night, carved a trench a thousand yards long in the ground with my gaze, tore men asunder and murdered boys barely as old as I.”   
  
Maggie clutched Lucy’s hand instinctively. Lucy squeezed back, utterly silent.   
  
“You have heard, I presume, of Reinhard Heydrich?” the former Red Star asked. Jimmy nodded.   
  
“Nazi leader, head of the Gestapo and principal planner of the Holocaust. Developed superpowers mysteriously in 1942, killed in action over Berlin in ’45.”   
  
“What you do not know is how he developed those powers.” Karen/Katarina swallowed, breathing heavily. “You see—he could not have developed them without me.”   
  
“How?” Olsen asked.   
  
“I am not Human,” the superheroine admitted. “I was born Kara Zor-El, daughter of Zor-El of the House of El and Alura In-Ze of the House of Ze, on the planet Krypton. My father was a member of the scientific guild, the brother of Jor-El, who was head of the House of El, and my mother was High Judicator of Krypton. My aunt, Astra In-Ze, was Arclomnian—General—of the Fourth Order, our equivalent of your Marines or perhaps Navy SEALs. She was killed in action trying to save a world from…” She shook her head. “I cannot, I cannot speak of it in detail. The Light—it took my mother’s sister and it took my world.”   
  
“How did you reach Earth?” Sawyer wondered. Lucy’s mouth was dry as she realized just how much the woman across from her had gone through.   
  
“As the Light closed in on Krypton, my father sent me away on an escape pod that he had designed. It was based on a military shuttle, and was capable of superluminal travel. I was awake the entire time. I saw my planet disappear; one moment, Krypton was there, orbiting Rao, the next there was a flash of light and Krypton and Rao were  _gone_.” She poured herself a mug of tea, not even looking at the samovar as she did so. “I do not remember much of the trip. I believe that I encountered the opening to a bizarre spatial phenomenon known to Krypton as the Phantom Zone, which sent me to this out-of-the-way planet, but I am uncertain of the specifics. Either way, I landed on Earth at the approximate biological age of twelve, in a town in Ukraine—now part of the Coordinate—in the year 1934. I was adopted by the Popov family—they were relatively well-off, by the standards of Soviet laborers, who had managed to escape the worst of the Holodomor. My sister, Nadezhda Vasil’yevna, went to Moscow for flight school, and I followed; but the pod in which I had come to this world remained in Ukraine.”   
  
She drained the tea, and began to pour another. “When the Nazis took the country, they found the pod. Heydrich saw an opportunity; he used some of the scientific equipment that Zor-El had sent along, genetic alteration machines used to cure congenital diseases, meant as a gesture of peace and friendship, to attempt to fuse the Human and Kryptonian genetic structures. He tortured and killed thousands in the Nazi death camps, a slow and excruciating fate, before he found a formula that worked, likely by accident, and altered himself. Hitler made him his icon of power, and you know the rest. We fought many times, I defeated him most of those times, I destroyed every camp we came across and burned the machines into ashes, I killed him over Berlin.” She drained the tea again, set her mug aside, and walked over to her little kitchen. “I could not fight anymore. I  _would_  not fight anymore. I was still a girl, you see; I was twenty-three at the time, and had seen things that I witnessed break men and women far stronger than I. I told Stalin to eat a horse’s penis and went off to live the quietest life that I could with my sister.”   
  
Kara pulled a bottle of vodka from a drawer and took a long gulp. “I don’t like talking about it. I outlived Nadezhda, of course—I haven’t grown older since the 1950s. Something about my powers, I think. But anyway,” and she chugged a quarter of the bottle, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, “I was quite the idealist when I was younger. Truth, Justice, and Socialist Labor—I really believed it. The war…by the end of it, after the party that we threw to celebrate our victory over Berlin, I just crumpled. Didn’t speak to anyone for two weeks. Nadezhda coaxed me out, then a month later I told Stalin to leave and it was announced that I was dead. It took me ten years to function like a normal person again.” She took another swig of vodka. “I had to, for my sister. She was burning out supporting us both, even with our comrades from the regiment pitching in. So I retired, and left the heroics to a new generation of heroes.”   
  
“Then why’d you come back?” Lucy asked.   
  
“Well, I came to America because Marshal Lebed was looking for me. He wanted me for his new metahuman squad, apparently, but I have no more love for him than for Stalin. I went public again because…well, I swore an oath. I promised to kill fascism, to dig it up by the roots wherever it appears, and now I see it again here in America. That, and I’ve learned to cope with the memories. Blocking them off, mostly. Reliving the good ones—sometimes for my sister, sometimes for myself.” She drained the vodka and plunked the bottle down on the table; her Russian-sounding accent was pronounced and clearly audible now. “So there you have it. I lost my homeworld, my family, my innocence, and my new family, and left my new home. I am an alien from another world, the last of a dead race, the last daughter of Krypton. I fight for truth, justice, and socialist labor, in part because of my love for the people of this world, in part because I promised to never let fascism rise again, and in part because I need a purpose. Do you understand?”   
  
They nodded. Olsen cleared his throat.   
  
“I understand. And I promise you that this will never hit the press unless you explicitly tell me to send it.”   
  
Kara smiled wanly. “Thank you, Mr. Olsen.”   
  
“Is it OK if we change the subject a little?”   
  
“Please.”   
  
“Alright. So one, uh, current investigation that Lucy is working on with Captain Sawyer, is a request from a local religious leader who’s concerned about some kids he preaches for.”   
  
“Go on.”   
  
“Recently, a worrying number of teenagers have been contacted and radicalized by an extremist group called the Black Hand. Lucy has a lead on one of their operatives, and we were hoping that you would help deal with the threat.”   
  
“Of course.” Kara wiped what looked suspiciously like a tear from her eye. “My apologies, dwelling on memories is not good for me.”   
  
“I understand. So, Lucy’s going to be headed out, ah…”   
  
“It’s an open investigation, Olsen, Luce and I have an understanding,” Sawyer replied to Olsen’s look. “No details in front of me.”   
  
“Understood. Lucy will be making an investigation beginning this week, and would like your help when she discovers the Black Hand’s headquarters.”   
  
“You need only call.”   
  
“Excellent. Oh, and speaking of call—we like to do this with all of our clients…” He pulled a slim white smartphone from his briefcase. “This is encrypted and equipped with Twitter, Instagram, and basic phone functions. We believe that it will help your popularity to raise your social media profile by taking selfies while on patrol or on missions. Here’s a carrying case, we’ll replace the phone if needed due to damage.”   
  
Kara took the device gingerly. “I am not  _entirely_  comfortable with this…new-fangled technology.”   
  
“Completely understandable,” Olsen assured her. “Please take your time, this is a way to connect with the public and seem more genuine, if you’re too obviously scripted it’ll backfire.”   
  
Kara nodded, setting the smartphone aside. “Thank you. I will do what I can.” She stiffened suddenly.   
  
“What is it?” Lucy and Maggie asked simultaneously.   
  
“I heard something.” Kara stood and turned, eyes narrowing. “There is a superhuman fight in progress six blocks away. I will neutralize them.”   
  
Maggie swore, grabbing her walkie-talkie as Kara  _blurred_ , sprinting into her bedroom and emerging seconds later in full uniform before quickly but carefully opening the window and leaping into the sky. “Dispatch, this is Captain Sawyer, I’ve got an 0-8-4 in progress, Power Woman is inbound!”   
  
“ _You got an address, Sawyer?_ ”   
  
“Working on it!”   
  
Lucy grabbed Olsen’s shoulder. “I’m heading to the office, my spare costume’s there.”   
  
“Understood. I’ll be right behind you.”   
  
Lucy made it two steps before she tripped over Kara’s cat, which had apparently taken the door being ajar as an invitation to get underfoot.  
  
***  
  
_Long Avenue, Metropolis. 10:00 AM, June 28th, 2015_.   
  
“Don’t look now, Red, but we’re bein’ followed.”   
  
Kate stiffened at Harley’s whisper in her ear. “Where?” She shifted her head slightly to the right as if looking at the storefronts, peering out of her peripheral vision.   
  
“Four in dark coats, behind us ‘bout a hundred feet.”   
  
“I see them.” The one carried himself with confidence—no,  _assuredness_ , that was a metahuman who was secure in his powers. “I think one’s a super.”   
  
“I recognize the mark on their front pockets,” Harley hissed, low and subtle as she leaned in with a grin in an imitation of whispering some sweet nothing in her lover’s ear. “It’s from an Internet forum called Stormfront; the group calls themselves Pure Humanity.”   
  
“I know what Stormfront is.” Kate bit back the distaste in her voice. Nazis. Great. “Three baseline and one super, do you think?”   
  
Harley paused, then nodded while pretending to laugh at something Kate said. “Yeah. No clue what kinda powers, of course.” Kate dropped a quarter into a homeless man’s bowl as they passed.   
  
“Right.” Kate picked up the pace slightly; the men did the same, but then one said something just low enough that Kate couldn’t hear it, pointing ahead and slightly to the side.   
  
“They want the beggar,” Harley hissed.   
  
“The Anne Taylor up ahead. Guess you’re getting me an extra outfit.”   
  
“Aawww, I won’t have time to pick!”   
  
Kate patted her duffel bag. “We just need time to get into costume.” She ducked into the store as the thugs approached the beggar. “Changing rooms in the back.”   
  
“Hi, are you sure you’re in the right…” began a saleswoman, frowning at Harley’s attire and hairstyle as the vigilantes made for the changing rooms.   
  
“Yep, we’re good, just need to borrow a changing room for a minute!” Kate replied with her best smile. “You know how it is, metahuman things. Oh, and staying near the back of the store would be a good idea for a few minutes.”   
  
The saleswoman’s eyes widened. “It’s OK! Just wait for Power Woman, we have a new local super now…”   
  
“Why is  _everyone_  so obsessed with this Power Woman bimbo?” Harley complained as Kate shut the changing-room door, the blonde’s shirt and pants already off as she unzipped Kate’s duffel and reached for her costume.   
  
“She admitted to having category-seven strength and probably being invincible,” Kate noted as she pulled her lasso from the bag. “Plus she can defy gravity and claims to have speed in the cat-5 range. Either she’s making it up, which I think is more likely, or she’s literally the single most powerful super on record.” Harley tugged her shirt on and buckled her pants as Kate went for her helmet. “C’mon, we need to get out there and finish this quickly.”   
  
When a fully-suited Athene and Eris sprinted from the store seconds later, the first thing Kate saw was the civilians clearing the area. A woman in a sweatshirt was on the ground, crawling towards a baby in a stroller with a split lip and eye rapidly purpling as one of the thugs kicked the homeless man. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kate challenged. The probably-super—a tall blond in a black longcoat, wearing a red insignia with a black swastika and double helix superimposed over the center—turned from where he was kicking the groaning man on the ground and grinned as he caught sight of Athene and Eris.   
  
“Oh, good! I’d been hoping for Power Woman but you’ll do quite nicely.” He looked  _young_ , like his friends; they were all white, young-looking, and scrawny except for the blond. “I’ll crush you two like ants, the media coverage should be a good breakthrough for Pure Humanity.”   
  
“Step away from that man and have your pet goons do the same,  _now_ ,” Kate snarled. Harley hefted her baseball bat.  
  
“Yeah, do what Red says or I’ll knock your teeth into next week, frat boy!”   
  
“Please, like I’d listen to a couple of dyke sluts like you,” the man sneered. “Besides, I need to take down a powerful super to make a good impact. Congratulations, you just became the first cuck degenerates to fall before… ** _THE ARYAN_**!”   
  
He roared the last two words and lunged for Kate, longcoat flapping around his body as he swung a punch for her head at superhuman speed. Kate brought her shield up, and the fist  _whang_ ed against the metal. The Nazi super yelped and drew back.   
  
Kate didn’t give him the chance to regroup. Her own fist flew, and “The Aryan” flipped over in midair, crashing into a wall. The other three thugs rushed Kate with a roar, but she ducked down and slammed into two of them, bowling them over as Harley’s bat took the other in the chest, sending him stumbling back with a  _crack_  of a busted rib.   
  
The blond man picked himself up and shoved off of the wall with a roar of rage as Kate straightened; the Nazi slammed into her midsection and sent her flying into the street. A taxi trying to cut through the emptied right lane screeched to a halt just a moment too slowly, and Kate felt the Nazi get thrown free as the impact sent them flying. Kate rolled to her feet, swearing as her bruised ribs complained. The Nazi was getting to his feet more slowly, shaking his head in pain…  
  
There was a  _blur_ , and a tall, powerful blonde woman landed next to the man, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck. She levitated easily off of the ground, then slammed him under the jaw with one powerful fist. Kate could hear the impact even through the screams and honking of horns. The woman tossed the limp Nazi to the ground, then  _slammed_  from the air into the two who Kate had knocked over, knocking their heads together and dropping their unconscious bodies without visible effort. Harley turned from where she was about to hit the last thug again at the noise, and the new super—the one called Power Woman, Kate realized—grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her back.   
  
“Enough. I understand the need to obliterate Nazis, but you are better than him.” The voice was a rich, powerful alto, a slight Eastern European accent audible to Kate’s ears.   
  
“Screw you, Barbie!” Harley snapped. “Get your hands off me!” Power Woman released her, but stood in front of her with her arms crossed.   
  
“It’s alright, honey,” Kate assured her lover, gripping her shoulders with one arm and lowering her shield. “Thanks for the help, uh, Power Woman, but we had it in control.”   
  
The broad shoulders shrugged. “I do not doubt you. But my assistance ended the fight quickly and likely reduced civilian casualties.”   
  
Kate grinned. “Alright, that’s a fair—whoah, look behind you!”   
  
The thug who Harley had been attacking was on his feet, and had managed to pull out a switchblade. As Power Woman turned, the thug lunged.   
  
“Die, you degenerate bitch!”   
  
The heroine didn’t even blink. The switchblade hit her in the forehead.   
  
And snapped.   
  
The Nazi crumpled backwards in shock. “What…Wha…”   
  
Power Woman’s arm shot out, and she hauled the thug up like he weighed nothing at all. “That was a mistake.”   
  
“Ohgodohgodohgod please don’t kill me…”   
  
The titan smiled. Well, her lips turned upwards at least. It didn’t reach her eyes. “You are very lucky that I am not a murderous fascist pigdog like you.” She backhanded the man with her left, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. The superheroine leaned him up against a bus stop and motioned to Harley and Kate.   
  
“Come,” Power Woman ordered. “We must check on the civilians, and then wait for the police.”   
  
“Yeah…about that…” Kate began. “We…kind of have to leave. Now. Before the police arrive.”   
  
“The Metropolis Police Department will require a statement from visiting metahumans,” Power Woman replied. “This is standard policy; if you attempt to flee the scene I will be forced to detain you until the police arrive. I am sorry if this is inconvenient for you, but I must insist.” She helped the thugs’ groaning victim to sit up and leaned him back gently against a wall. “Your ribs are badly bruised, but thankfully not broken. However, there is a fracture in your left ulna. Medical services are on their way; remain calm, Comrade.”   
  
“Listen, um...Power Woman...” Kate began.   
  
Harley snorted. Apparently she hadn’t entirely gotten over her bit of jealousy. “Ooohh, where'd ya get  _that_  name, an '80s compilation cassette?”  
  
Kate winced at Harley’s lack of tact, but soldiered on. “We, ah, do things differently in Jump City. The police there aren't as pleasant as here in the Big M…”  
  
“Ya mean corrupt to the core, Red...”  
  
“ _So_  we can't risk law enforcement knowing too much about us…”  
  
“Also...you ain't a cop, Silicon Valleys. So  _what_  right do ya have ta detain us?”  
  
“ _Harley_ ,” Kate hissed. “Be nice, please? Now, uh, Power Woman, ma’am, I've got a micro-recorder. If I give that to you, let you tape us giving you a statement, then will that do?”  
  
“An' I'd like ta see you  _detain_  us, Power Bimbo,” Harley added. “Won't end well for ya.”   
  
The other woman turned, slowly, the female civilian sitting with her stroller against the wall and a pacifier in the baby’s mouth. Kate let out a small groan.  _Harley, I love you, but I REALLY don’t think taunting her was a good idea_.   
  
"First of all,” Power Woman drawled, her vaguely Slavic accent rolling the R, “I once took a tank shell to the eye and suffered no damage at all. I strongly doubt that  _either_  of you is capable of harming me, let alone flying at transonic velocities to escape my pursuit. Second, I will endeavor to respect your needs, and will be willing to assist in your own attempts to ensure the safety of the people of your own city if you cooperate and make that request of me, but as a sanctioned vigilante it is my duty to ensure that a crime scene is kept intact, witnesses included, for the police once I have become involved. This is standard policy.” She gestured to her ample bosom, chuckling under her breath. “Third, I'm sorry you're not comfortable with your natural gifts, but there's nothing in these girls but fifty years of my sister's  _vatrushka_ , plus Christmas leftovers when we could afford leftovers. If you feel the need to denigrate me, please at least have the respect to call my weight what it is. Now, the police will be here in about sixty seconds, given this district's usual response times. Please do not make this difficult."   
  
_Damn_. Kate nudged Harley, who hefted her bat, and licked her lips. "I'm sorry, ma'am. But we can't risk our identities."  
  
The blonde nodded, face set in stone. "I see. I am sorry about this, then." She moved like lightning; Harley ducked and rolled aside, but Kate was Power Woman's target. Athene barely got her shield up in time; the impact sent her skidding backwards and into the curb of the island between Long Avenue, 6th Road, and Broad Street, and she barely kept her feet. Power Woman leaped into the air and came down, but in that split-second Kate brought her shield around with all of her strength.  
  
The powerful blonde flew sideways, crashing through a bus stop. She rose almost immediately, getting to her feet with a shake of her head. Kate pulled out her lasso, readying her shield...  
  
Power Woman came back  _much_  faster, a crack splitting the air as she broke the sound barrier, knocking Athene's shield aside with impossible strength. The towering blonde grabbed Athene by the throat with one hand, lifting her off the ground with ease as the smaller woman grappled uselessly at her hand, then leaped into the air before throwing Athene down onto the asphalt, hard. The superheroine's lasso fell free as her breath left her with a whoosh, and Power Woman slammed into her hard enough to crack the asphalt a second later. Athene gasped, pulling a hand up just in time to block Power Woman's piledriver into her head, and her armor cracked with the force of the blonde's fist.  
  
The blonde pulled her mighty arm back again, fist trained on Kate's face as her eyes flitted over Kate's, trying to gauge how much force she needed for a knockout blow, but Harley was faster; she ducked out from her cover and grabbed the Lasso.  
  
"Hey, Blondie!" The lasso fell around Power Woman as she whipped her head around in mid-punch, and snapped tight. The blonde heroine reared back, and Harley swore as she was yanked off of her feet, but kept her grip on the rope. Power Woman snarled, trying to throw herself at Harley, but her coordination was off from the surprise and she stumbled over, crashing into the ground. Harley snapped the rope taut again, and Kate rolled over, wheezing. Power Woman didn't even try to stand; she levitated off of the ground, wriggling in midair with a curse in a harsh, guttural language Harley didn't know.   
  
"Red! I've got her, but I don't think I can hold her!"  
  
The blonde hit her in the chest; hard enough to bruise and knock her several feet backwards and off her feet. Harley gasped, trying to understand what had happened as Power Woman, arms still awkwardly lassoed to her body, loomed over her in the air...  
  
Athene grabbed Power Woman by the shoulders, flipped the levitating heroine over her head, and smashed her head-first into the ground hard enough to drive her straight into the asphalt. Power Woman flexed spasmodically, ripping out another chunk of road as she flipped back out to land roughly in a prone position, but Kate was still flung backwards two steps by the raw power of the blonde. Kate grabbed the Lasso again as Power Woman started to sit up, drawing it tight and tying a quick, secure knot before the other woman could completely recover.  
  
"Stay down." Kate wished that didn't come out as an exhausted wheeze. Distant sirens split the air, coming closer rapidly.   
  
Harley got back to her feet, yelping in pain as she felt her bruised ribs. "Owww...remind me not to do that again anytime soon, Red. Unless it's to save you again, of course." She stalked over to the blonde as Kate caught her breath.  
  
"OK, cheerleader. Now, we're just gonna leave. We'll radio with the best way to undo that knot once we're far away, and then when you're feeling more reasonable, just drop the Lasso somewhere near Jump City and we'll find it."  
  
Power Woman raised an eyebrow. Muscles rippled across her bare arms, and the Lasso began to glow as she slowly, impossibly, inched her arms outwards. The color drained from Harley's face as the burly super grunted with effort, the Lasso's light burning brighter with something like urgency.  
  
"Uh...Red," Harley whispered, "what happens if she actually can break the Lasso?"  
  
"Bad stuff," Kate replied, licking her lips as the lasso slowly, inexorably loosened, gaps appearing between the blonde's arms and her body as she strained, "really bad." She approached their impromptu prisoner, slowly, hands out and open. "OK! Fine, you win. I'm going to let you out now, OK?"  
  
"A wise decision," was the slightly accented reply. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves again, and then apologize to the police for the damage to city property?"   
  
“Yeah. Uh, yeah. I’m Athene, and this is Eris. Just…we really,  _really_  can’t reveal our identities.” Kate untied the knot, warily, and Power Woman stood, cape fluttering in the breeze. The sirens were blaring loud now, and she could see police cars and what might be an ambulance out of the corner of her eye.   
  
“Power Woman, a pleasure to meet you. I have no reason to believe that Captain Sawyer will risk your civilian identities.” The superheroine frowned at the cracked asphalt. “Stand back.”   
  
“What?”   
  
Power Woman’s eyes ignited with heat. “Makeshift road repairs. It’s only polite.”   
  
Kate took several steps back, Harley at her side. The white-clad woman squinted at the cracked asphalt, and laser beams spat out, bathing the cracks in heat and melting the tar in seconds. Power Woman pursed her lips, stuck the curled tip of her tongue out, and blew, and Kate could  _feel_  the temperature drop as the tar rapidly resolidified. A Metropolis PD car and an ambulance screeched to a halt, a uniformed woman getting out of the former as two paramedics jumped from the latter.   
  
Power Woman looked up. “I presume that you are here on business?” Kate nodded as the officer said something into her Walkie-Talkie. “Good. Then, out of courtesy, I am willing to assist with your business, provided that it is legal.”   
  
“We can explain…the basics at least,” Kate allowed. Harley muttered something but stayed quiet. “It’s probably what gave that thug his powers.”   
  
“Really?” the policewoman asked, pulling out a notebook and pen. “Captain Maggie Sawyer, MPD. You two sanctioned?”   
  
“Um, no, we’re from Jump City.”   
  
Sawyer grimaced. “Figures. Keep the masks on, I just need aliases. And I want to hear everything from the beginning,  _especially_  how some random kid got superpowers.”   
\---------------

 _Metropolis PD interrogation room, 25th precinct. 30 minutes later._  
  
Athene looked around the room. Finally, satisfied that there were no cameras inside, she raised her hands to her head and removed the heavy silver helmet, letting her red hair fall free. “I figure this is safe enough,” she said. “After all, without a name and without anyone to compare my face to, then…I’m just a random redhead.”  
  
“With freckles. Gorgeous, perfect freckles…” Eris began, laughing as Athene glared at her. Power Woman and Maggie chuckled at that.  
  
Athene – Kate, she supposed, now – took a breath. “Sorry for being so…annoying about this. But it’s not just me I have to worry about.”  
  
“I understand,” Power Woman nodded. “I only emerged again once my sister...ah, the last of my family had departed this world. Less risk of retribution, of course. Perhaps it was cowardly of me, but I cannot be  _everywhere_  at once.”  
  
Eris undid her hood and mask, grinning. “Eh, I got no-one.” She paused, then hugged Kate hard. “No-one ‘cept Red, anyways.”  
  
Kate’s face softened and she returned the hug, then continued. “All you need to know is that my power, my strength…and most importantly, my mission…that all comes from someone who’s not affiliated to any political or pseudopolitical group in this country.”  
  
Maggie Sawyer looked consideringly at Kate. “That’s either  _really_  bad or really good,” she said at last. Power Woman's arms were still crossed, and her face was unreadable.  
  
Kate chuckled. “Tell me…have you ever heard of the Amazons?”  
  
“Sure thing. Warrior women, from…Greek myth, right?”  
  
“Possibly not so much myth,” Power Woman chimed in. “Is that what you’re about to tell us?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Your armor style is very typically Greek, for one; I believe if I remember what lessons on ancient history that I received in my youth that the style is based on that of a type of soldier called a hoplite. For another, your armor and shield managed to hold me at bay temporarily – no mean feat; even if I am used to holding back to avoid killing people, you survived with bruises blows that would have pulped a normal Human – and your…rope thing managed to restrain me briefly. Again, no mean feat.”  
  
Maggie Sawyer looked between Kate and Power Woman, and raised an eyebrow of her own. “Restraining, huh? Sounds fun.”  
  
Kate felt a blush covering her face. One that wasn’t helped by how Power Woman was glaring at Maggie, and how Harley started laughing.  
  
“That aside,” Kate forged on quickly, “you’re right. The Amazons exist. But…they’re not precisely what you think. Or rather, they are, but they’re different. And Power Woman, I’m surprised at how readily you accepted that they might not be myth.”  
  
“With all due respect, I’ve seen and experienced far stranger and more terrible things than mythical societies that turn out to be real." The blonde's face bore a far-away look. "My own origin is…somewhat unusual. And ever since the first metahuman appeared, the Human species has been living in an Age of Wonders, is that not so?”  
  
They all shared a laugh at that. “True,” Kate said. “Very true. But anyway, the Amazons are real. They’re human, but…beyond the human norm. Far stronger, for one. For another, they’re functionally immortal. An Amazon only dies from unnatural causes. In addition, they have technology that…” she paused. “It…blurs the line. Even after living among them for a while, I can’t tell if half of it is machinery or magic or what. Like…my armor. It could be magic, it could be a network of force-fields and circuits that’re just beyond anything we could make…I don’t know.”  
  
“You…lived among them?” Maggie blinked and sighed. “Do I even  _want_  to know how that happened? Were you adventuring around ancient tombs and found a portal to them or something? Or is this an ancient artifact you inherited, do I have to call this in to Extranormal Operations?”  
  
“Nope. I was on a plane that crashed right next door to their homeland.” Kate shook her head. “Lucky for me I was a woman – if I was a man, they’d have let me die of the injuries from the crash." Power Woman's face was dark at that, and Kate  _really_  hoped that she was imagining the red glow at the back of the blonde's eyes. "They healed me up, though. But at first…at first, they were going to keep me on the island forever. In perfect comfort, of course, but…” She paused, squeezing her hands together; even Sawyer was frowning now. “Then they found that the technology they’d used to heal me had given me…well, I’d suddenly become as strong as a typical Amazon. And…given that I’d lived in ‘Man’s World’ – as they call it – all my life, they felt that I could help them.”  
  
* * *  
  
Kara Zor-El frowned. “Help them? How? Espionage?”  
  
She didn’t quite think that was the case. She’d not known this Athene very long, but Kara was one of the better judges of character among the old 588th. This wasn't a Party spook or a CIA infiltrator, she was a soldier.  
  
“Absolutely not.” Athene leaned forward. “I told them up-front, I wouldn’t tell them anything that could damage America. However, they did ask me to keep them advised on political and social changes in the country, and to let them know if it looked like they’d been discovered. But that wasn’t my main reason for being here. They had a particular target whose agents and weapons they wanted neutralized, and with my knowledge of Man’s World, I could do it more quietly and efficiently than Amazons could."  
  
That…made a lot of sense. On the other hand, it sounded far more like an assassin’s mission than serving as a crime-fighter. And Kara was already suspicious of these "Amazons" and their motives--she could understand not wanting to get involved in politics, or a genital-measuring contest between nations, but if they genuinely wanted to help the people of Earth they would at least have set up proxies working through legitimate channels. “What target would this be?”  
  
“It’s…probably better if someone else tells you that,” Athene told her.  
  
Reaching into the small bag that her partner carried, she withdrew something that looked like a candlestick made of crystal. Placing it on the table, she moved her hands across the surface…then, a second later, a beam of light shone from it, and an image appeared, of a regal-looking woman with golden hair and a tiara.  
  
Kara pursed her lips. The last time she’d seen that kind of combination of regality and arrogance had been on a picture of the Tsar's wife in a museum in Leningrad.   
  
This would be a  _fun_  conversation.   
  
***  
  
Kate bowed her head as Hippolyta regarded her. “My Queen.”  
  
“Athene.” The Queen was as commandingly regal as ever. “To what do I owe the pleasure? And the additional company, I note…”  
  
Her gaze swept Maggie and Power Woman. “Hmmm…” she said at length. “Two women of power, I see…” She eyed Maggie. “You’re a natural leader, I can tell. One used to driving those under her hard, but getting results.” As Maggie blinked, she turned to Power Woman. “And you…you’re very impressive.”  
  
"You didn't say that about me when we first talked," Harley pouted.  
  
"That's because you're a brat and a nuisance." Hippolyta's voice remained severe, but there was a slight twinkle in her eyes as she spoke.  
  
Power Woman met her gaze levelly, eyes cold. “Spare me the flattery, please. I’d like to know more about you before I can think of whether you warrant a return of that remark. Such as an explanation of why a race of immortal, supernaturally strong warriors has not tried to improve the world beyond their own borders, and has instead hidden away in fear for millennia.”  
  
Kate winced, but Hippolyta ignored Power Woman’s remark, turning back to her. “I assume you’ve called me to speak to your new friends for a reason, Athene?”  
  
“Yes. I felt that an explanation of my mission would be best coming from you.” Athene paused. “Well, our mission. My mission is basically to help people. That was part of the agreement I reached with the Amazons,” she added, addressing the table at large. “I took care of the more specific mission, and in turn I was free to use my new abilities for others.”  
  
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a flicker of approval on Power Woman’s face at that.   
  
The Queen nodded. “Just so. Very well then…” She paused, considering. “From what I know of Man’s World…and from when Kate was on our island…you won’t believe in the Gods of Olympus. Would I be correct?”  
  
Maggie Sawyer raised her hands. “I live in a world where people can fly at supersonic speeds, ma’am. Back in the day Power Woman here would’ve been called a god.”  
  
Power Woman shook her head vehemently at that with a frown of distaste. “ _No_.  _Never_  that,  _never_ a god. People might have called me such, but it would not have made me one any more than people calling Stalin the ‘Little Father’ made him a loving leader.”  _Stalin_  was spat like something vile-tasting, the accent distinctly Eastern European.   
  
“Well no matter,” Hippolyta said quickly. “Take it as this: the Olympians exist, and they are far more powerful than any human ever born. Whether that makes them gods or not, you decide, though we believe that they are.” She paused. “And this includes Ares, the God of War.”  
  
“That’s my mission,” Kate added. “Ares, his agents and the various weapons he possesses…they work to try to provoke war and turmoil among humans. So I seek out the agents of Ares and I stop them, and any of his ‘weapons technology’ I find, I destroy.”  
  
Power Woman cocked her head. “I see…but how does Ares benefit? Why does he work for humans to fight one another?”  
  
“The best analogy to use for Ares,” Hippolyta said carefully, “or rather, for some of his more powerful engines, is that of the vampire. Save that where the vampire draws strength from blood, the weapons of Ares draw them from the mind. Every negative emotion, every moment of ugly triumph at the death of a foe, every feeling of pleasure and satisfaction in killing, all power them. And his hope – a hope that may be true – is that should they gain a great source of power, say a major war or outbreak of disorder and civil strife, then his weapons and soldiers could become strong enough for his ultimate goal.”  
  
“Which is?” Power Woman asked, frowning at the image of the Amazon Queen.   
  
“To topple the Olympians who have watched over Earth, and to take their place. And having done that, to intervene directly in the human world.”  
  
“And what – conquer us?” Maggie demanded. “I  _really_  think this is a matter for Extranormal Operations.”   
  
Kate shook her head. “Much worse than that.”  
  
“My champion is right,” Hippolyta sighed. “Ares believes that mankind has potential, potential for what he considers greatness. But to achieve that greatness, the strong must be uplifted and the weak culled. And how better to do that than through war?”  
  
“The seers of Themyscira believe that, if he won, maybe nine-tenths of Earth’s population would be wiped out,” Athene added. “The remainder would be both the best in terms of strength and ruthlessness, maybe, but they’d be the dregs of humanity morally speaking.”  
  
Power Woman frowned in apparent confusion, and Hippolyta laughed dryly. “That shocks you?”  
  
“I doubt that one could consider my comrades in arms the ‘dregs of humanity’. I’ve killed men, torn them in half, burned them to ashes, but we didn’t commit anything like the monstrosities that  _Der Übermensch_  and the other fascist dogs did. War is hell, yes. It tears you down to your core and exposes the basest nature of your being, it causes death and woe on a scale unmatched by lesser forms of strife. But I do not share your pessimism about the  _victors_  of war; in my experience, those who fight for hate of others have lost to those who fight for home, family, and Motherland.” Kate frowned at that.  _Der Übermensch_? Wasn’t that a Nazi supervillain from the second World War? And from the way she talked, she’d seen active combat before. Just who  _was_  this woman?   
  
“Perhaps you do not quite understand. Ares is the God of  _War_ , not of  _Honour_. He and those who follow him – who truly follow him, body and soul – don’t just believe in fighting, they believe in  _winning_. By any means necessary, and in the most efficient way possible.” Hippolyta paused. “Consider this. If an enemy surrenders, the humane thing to do is escort him or her to a POW camp and have them remain there for the rest of the war, yes?” She chuckled at the flicker of surprise on Power Woman and Maggie’s faces. “Just because we remain on the island doesn’t mean we’re ignorant of Man’s World. We have our ways of gaining intelligence – at one point, I’d considered revealing our existence to the Soviet Union thanks to their superheroine, the Red Star. I’d heard of her, and I’d heard that the USSR far outstripped other nations in terms of the equality of women…it was when I learned about their feelings on human rights that I decided against it, and focused on strengthening our island.” She smiled nastily. “Even the most powerful nations on this Earth would be unwise to attack us…but I digress. As I say, the humane thing to do is take a defeated enemy prisoner. But it’s inefficient – it ties up soldiers in guarding them, they require food and shelter, and there’s always the danger of their escaping. Far more efficient, wouldn’t you say, to kill them? As the Lords of Achaea did when they took Troy – for all that your popular culture lauds the myths and heroes of the Trojan War, you tend to forget that Odysseus threw Hector’s infant son from the walls of the destroyed city, to stop him from taking vengeance for the death of his father and his city. That is the kind of war that Ares would provoke your people into fighting, to winnow out the strong from the weak.”  
  
***  
  
“Spare me the lecture,” Kara snapped. “I immigrated to this country from Russia, fought in one of the most brutal wars in history, and witnessed a genocide. I am well aware of the hypocrisy of the Soviet Union, and of what evil is capable of. You say that Ares seeks endless war, and for some reason subscribes to the most primitive, barbaric ideals of fascism. We are all adults here, and do not need a lecture on the horrors of war from a hypocrite who has hidden on an island with her advanced technology rather than stop the Holocaust, or the Serbian genocide of the Bosnians, or the Colombian War.” The superheroine’s face was cold and rigid, and she noted Athene looking worried from her peripheral vision. “Tell me what weapon this Ares has deployed and all that you know about it.” It wasn’t a request.   
  
Hippolyta looked put out, even furious, but she set her jaw and got to the point. “Ares has developed a drug called the Titan’s Blood. It grants superhuman strength, speed, and durability for a short duration while enhancing the user’s aggressive responses.”   
  
“So that’s what that kid was on,” Maggie realized. “Do you have a counter to this super-drug?”   
  
“Not directly,” Hippolyta admitted. “But we  _can_  destroy it before injection. Now, we have been able to determine that Ares is distributing the Titan’s Blood in Metropolis through an intermediary. I dispatched Athene and her consort to deal with the matter, though of course all assistance is appreciated.”   
  
“My girlfriend works for the government,” Maggie suggested. “I can get her to analyze the drug and try to find a counter?”   
  
“And I will assist with the more…direct aspects of the matter, if you wish,” Kara added.   
  
“I wouldn’t mind the help,” Athene agreed.   
  
“Further, I believe that my…publicist, Ms. Lane, moonlights as a…private investigator,” Kara offered hesitantly. “I will mention the matter to her. You will likely receive assistance.”   
  
“I do not wish to make the success of our efforts hinge upon the work of unprepared mortals,” Hippolyta noted, “but if Athene is willing to take the risk…”   
  
“I am,” Athene confirmed.   
  
“Do you have a sample of the compound on you?” Maggie asked.   
  
Athene hesitated. Kara casually crossed her arms under her breasts. This was the moment of truth.   
  
Eris, perhaps predictably, spoiled the tension. “Aww, come  _on_ , you don’t need to  _emphasize_  your boobs like that! Not all of us rolled straight sixes in the gene pool.”   
  
Kara and Athene’s eyes met. And in spite of themselves, all three women in the room other than Eris burst out laughing.   
  
“Haha, ha, mph, ha,” Kara managed, throttling back hard on her exhalation just in case. A woman in a world of glass and shadows needed to be careful. “I am sorry. I often forget how women with, ah, less endowment can be jealous of me.”   
  
“I’ve got a small sample,” Athene admitted. “Back in our, ah, mobile home. I can retrieve it…”   
  
“I’ll get it to Alex straightaway,” Maggie promised, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Just give me an anonymous contact line and I’ll get the results to you as soon as she has something.”   
  
“That…that works,” Athene replied, hesitant but hopeful. “Just as long as you don’t publicize the information?”   
  
“I understand. Jump City is essentially Metropolis back in the ‘70s, I wouldn’t have joined the force back then for good reason.” Maggie folded up her notebook and clicked her pen back. “Alright. I’ll get you ladies out of here, then deal with that dumbass kid and his Stormfront buddies. Ma’am,” she offered the last to Hippolyta with an inclined head.   
  
Hippolyta inclined her head back to Maggie. “Good luck to you, and to all of you. If our seers learn anything of value, then I’ll contact you directly.” She met Kara’s gaze with an odd mixture of curiosity and grim resolve. “Tread carefully. The minions of Ares are not to be underestimated.” She smirked slightly. “Though then again…neither are the Amazons.”  
  
On those words, there was a flicker, and Hippolyta vanished.  
  
A silence fell, broken eventually by Maggie. "All due respects...your boss freaks me out a bit."  
  
"Me too, at times," Kate replied. "Most of the time, she's fine, but once in a while she can be..." She shook her head. "One day, I'll have to go into just why it is the Amazons stay on their island - the outside world's been pretty damn hostile at times." She paused, then grinned. "At the end of the day, though...they saved my life, they gave me powers I can use to help people, and all I have to do in return is try to stop an evil madman. Not exactly a devil's bargain, is it?"  
  
Maggie considered, then shook her head, though Kara frowned thoughtfully. "Anyways," Maggie continued, rising, "whatever about your boss, I'm damn glad to have you around. You can count on me and mine."  
  
Kara pulled Eris aside gently and leaned down to her ear as Maggie and Athene shook hands. “One large woman to another, do you know an, ah, cheap supplier of comfortable support garments?”   
  
The shorter blonde eyed her critically. “I dunno, Barbie. The brands I know aren’t exactly sized for a girl as, well, fit as you.”   
  
Kara straightened with a nod. “Damn. It was worth the attempt, I suppose.”   
  
Eris cracked a grin. “Yanno…you might not be so bad, Blondie, despite the stick up your rear.”   
  
***  
  
_HankCorp owned tenements, outer Metropolis. 10:00 PM, June 28th, 2015_.   
  
Lucy Lane slipped in through the window, then retracted her grapnel gun’s line.  _Let’s see what Mr. ibn Awad has around here…_  It might not be much, depending on how experienced or disciplined the terrorist recruiter was, but it would give the vigilante and Jimmy something to work with.   
  
The Flamebird flipped on the infrared goggles that Jimmy had acquired from Queen’s techs, scanning the room carefully. Nothing jumped out at her—the coffee on the nightstand was a quarter full and stone cold, and the television hadn’t been used in a long time. Good.   
  
Lucy checked the bookshelf, looking over the titles. An atlas, several slim pamphlets, a few bundles of booklets—possibly propaganda. No Koran—no, that would be on the bedside table. A look confirmed that assumption. Lucy flipped her infrared off, pulled out a flashlight, and flipped through the Koran. Even with her limited Arabic, some of the passages looked different from the versions she’d read as part of her training under General Mattis’s civilian outreach program in Iraq. (It had turned out that offering to learn about the local religion and patrolling 24/7 to protect civilians from reprisal attacks increased help from that sector of the population by several orders of magnitude. Lucy would swear until her dying day that Mattis was the best officer in Marine history.) The Koran that Lucy had read had strictly admonished the believer to protect non-Muslim monotheists; this version seemed to be missing that passage, and the passage talking about skipping prayers while under attack from unbelievers had been edited to remove some of the qualifiers. Not to mention that the bit about Allah frowning upon aggressors had vanished.   
  
_Bog-standard extremist nonsense, basically the same as those white-supremacist Bibles._  The vigilante set it aside. So this guy was a fanatic, probably not on top of the Black Hand. That confirmed her suspicions; the Black Hand was operating in cells, likely to protect the leader from discovery. This smacked of attack planning in progress, or worse, a longer-term cell trying to set itself up.   
  
Hmm. No computer—but the charging cord for a laptop and a power strip, with what looked like a converter for a smartphone charger as well. She pursed her lips. Unfortunately, while this all pointed to something serious, none of this actually told her anything about where or when or how something might be going down.  
  
Letting out a quiet hiss, she continued her search. There was a brief flare of excitement as she found a cellphone on the bedside table, one that quickly subsided as she saw the SIM had been pulled.  _SIM gone, probably a burner phone anyway…_  it could still be mined with the right equipment, but that’d take time, time she probably didn’t have…  
  
A noise sounded from the door, and she whirled, preparing herself for fight or flight.  
  
* * *  
  
“…I’m just saying, we were seriously lucky,” Athene said gently, as she and Eris moved down the hallway of the apartment building. “Maybe in future, don’t taunt potential allies until we have a better idea of their power level?” She grinned. “After that, fine, but up until then…”  
  
“Eh, it worked out OK,” Eris replied, shrugging.  
  
“OK? The  _road_  got broken.”  
  
“ ‘Sides, it was probably good for ‘er to get a bit of a workout. An’ anyway, best way ta get ta know someone after fighting alongside ‘em is to fight ‘em.”  
  
Athene sighed. “Just…be more careful? Please?” She decided to let the subject drop for now. “That aside…all feels weird to be working directly with the law this time around.”  
  
“True. Could get used to it, though. ‘Specially if Pew’s our liaison.”  
  
“Wha…who the hell is ‘Pew’?”  
  
“Keep  _up_ , Red! Pew – Power Woman. PW, ‘Pew’, geddit?”  
  
“O…K…” Athene considered. “Good name.”  
  
Eris laughed. “Ya really think so?”  
  
“Well, considering the things you could have called her…”  
  
“Red! C’mon now, I’m a classy gal…”  
  
“Who called her ‘Silicon Valleys’ the first time you met?”  
  
Eris laughed, only for the two of them fell silent as they approached the apartment door. “This it?” Athene whispered.  
  
“Apartment 88, that’s what Johnny said,” Eris replied, sounding more serious. “He managed to trace some of the e-mail traffic back through the proxies to a computer used here.”  
  
“Right…” Athene considered. This  _could_  all be a wild goose chase – after all, the only confirmed use of Titan’s Blood had come from neo-Nazis, not Islamists. On the other hand…Johnny had managed to find a lot of very odd chatter – nothing overt, all using various code-words and the like, but all of it seeming to revolve around Metropolis. That, coupled with a mention of ‘turning the tools of Satan loose upon unbelievers’, had rung alarm bells for her. So, while Power Woman and her police contact followed up the Nazi side of things, Athene had decided to take a little time to check this out.  
  
_Hell, even if he’s_ not _involved, breaking up a terror cell can only be a good thing._  
  
“Let’s see…” Athene tried the door, and it swung open easily. “Nobody home, obviously. And for a terrorist, he’s got piss-poor security.”  
  
Athene stepped in, hefting her spear and keeping her shield up.  
  
* * *  
  
From her hiding place, Lucy blinked.  _This_  she hadn’t been expecting – rather than the recruiter or maybe friends of his appearing, it was instead a tall woman, clad in silver armour and a leather-and-metal kilt-type thing, her head covered by a helmet and a spear and shield in her hands.  _Wait, I know her… Athene. From Jump City._ She was followed by another costumed figure, this one in a dark robe and hood.  
  
Athene was scanning the walls. “No hairs, no easily-identifiable dust, no tripwires…either he’s the worst terrorist in the world, or he isn’t planning on coming back here. Or this isn’t his apartment…”  
  
“Oh, it is.” Lucy stepped out, hands raised; she needed to avoid spooking Athene or starting a fight, she’d have no chance without powers against an A-list super. “I can vouch for that much.”  
  
Athene stiffened, raising her shield, then relaxed and stepped backwards slightly. “I’ve heard of you… Flamebird, right?”  
  
“That’s right. And you two are Athene and Eris – I caught the iTube video.”  
  
She’d caught the video, and…up until Power Woman had arrived, it had been the most intimidating thing she’d ever seen. Baroness Blitzkrieg had been hurling lightning at the other woman, but Athene hadn’t even stopped her charge, just tanking it all on her shield and armor, not even lightly reddened from it…then she’d tackled the villainess off the rooftop they’d both been on, and they’d fallen for so many stories, Athene punching the other woman throughout their fall. Some smart guys had made video slowing that part down and splicing it with epic music, but to Lucy’s mind the unedited one was more than sufficiently intimidating.  
  
Eris laughed. “Can’t get away from it, can ya babe?”  
  
“Hush, you.” Athene shook her head, a slight laugh in her voice, then turned back to Lucy. “I take it you’re here for the same reason we are – looking for ibn Awad?”  
  
“That’s right. How’d you…”  
  
“We’re following up on a lead. He could be involved in something…let’s just say something very large indeed. Something stretching beyond even Islamist terror.” Seeing Lucy frown, Athene raised a hand. “We’ll fill you in completely, don’t worry. But tell me: did you find anything?”  
  
“Not so far. Just a dead burner phone.”  
  
“May I?”  
  
Lucy paused, then nodded, handing the phone over. Reaching to the belt of her armor, Athene produced a small metallic cylinder, with strange runes spiraling around its surface in bizarre patterns. She held it close to the phone and closed her eyes, and the runes lit up, blazing a bright blue-white.  
  
There was a brief pause, then she opened her eyes again. “This phone made several calls to another phone, which at the  _time_  was in an old warehouse outside the city. The last call was today, at which point the SIM was taken out.”  
  
“ _Damn_ … Impressive. You have an exact location, or just…”  
  
“I can take us right there.” Lucy caught the flash of a smile from behind the helmet’s T-Visor. “Trust me on this.”  
  
* * *  
  
Athene had to admit, this Flamebird was pretty damn good. Efficient, not given to wasting time with questions…plus, she had a nice car.  
  
“… _and tensions are set to continue to rise_ ,” a radio newsreader droned – more about the situation in Russia. “ _Tensions were also raised with reports of fresh attacks along the Malay-Thai border, with both sides accusing the other of attempting to provoke violence. Japan, Britain and Australia have called for calm on both sides_ …”  
  
_Translation: both sides’ paymasters have no interest in starting a fight over some stupid border squabble, and want everyone back in their boxes_. Unfortunately, Britain and Australia had promised to defend Malaysia and Singapore’s sovereignty and independence in perpetuity – in return for basing rights and various trade agreements, of course – while Japan and Thailand were old allies. And if the big players wanted to keep their smaller friends on-side, they had to be active in protecting those friends’ interests.  _Strife everywhere…Perfect times for Ares._  
  
Between Athene and the other hero, Eris was chattering away to Flamebird. “So, how’d ya find it? No powers, an’ on your own?”  
  
“I manage. Feet off of my parking brake, please. And besides…military training makes up a lot for not having any powers.”  
  
“Huh.” Eris nodded. “Bit different for me. Red made sure I was well-trained before she let me out on the streets with her. Plus, I always got her around, so if someone really major pops up, she can tank ‘em, and I’ll be the element of surprise.”  
  
Flamebird looked over from behind the wheel. “Tell me…why a baseball bat? Why not a billy club or something?”  
  
“Psychology, Tweety-Pie.” Eris grinned. “See, fight someone with your fists or feet or a baton, they’ll fight back. They’ll think ‘I can block this’ or ‘I just have ta get around the side’. With a bat, they’re thinkin’ ‘Keep that thing away from me!’. Plus...it’s like carryin’ a sword rather’n a gun. Ya got a gun, someone’ll be more inclined to try ta intimidate or fight, ‘cos anyone can have a gun. With a sword…they’ll be afraid, ‘cos ya gotta be crazy to be carryin’ a sword. Same with a bat.”  
  
Athene fought down a fit of laughter as she saw Flamebird staring. “Wha…’ _Tweety-Pie_ ’?”  
  
“Hey, I’m a simple girl. And ya got a yellow bird on your chest.”  
  
“But…but…”  
  
“You may have to grin and bear it,” Athene observed. “As far as Eris is concerned, you’re ‘Tweety-Pie’ from now on.”  
  
Flamebird looked at Athene. “This is a regular thing, I take it?”  
  
Athene put an arm around Eris, half-hugging, half-pretend choking. “Yes. Nearly all the time.”  
  
“Damn straight, Red.”  
  
Flamebird chuckled with a grin, then looked out her side of the car, the heavily modified Cadillac coming to a smooth halt. “We’re here, looks like.”  
  
“We are. Definitely.” Athene could see the warehouse, just as the vision that had beamed into her mind from the Seeker had shown.  
  
“Don’t suppose you have another of those things I could borrow?” Flamebird sounded hopeful.  
  
“Afraid they only work for Amazons.”  
  
“Well, damn.”  
  
There was no more talk as the three of them moved out, Athene and Eris watching the night while Flamebird moved toward the door, a lockpick and Taser gun in hand. It was open quickly, and they filed in.  
  
The interior was stripped nearly bare, the only thing remaining a cardboard tube dropped by the door. Athene scooped it up hastily as the three moved into the large, empty room, watching for any traps and for returning guards.  
  
Athene felt some tension ease out when they’d got inside and closed the door behind them. Still, she was very cautious opening the top of the cardboard tube.  
  
Nothing. Or, at least, nothing dangerous. Just paper rolled up. And… She pulled them out quickly, unrolling them on a bare shelf.  
  
“What…” Flamebird leant over. “These look like architect’s plans…”  
  
“They  _are_ ,” Athene said. “I don’t recognise the buildings, though…”  
  
Eris squeezed past her, pointing to one of them. “Hey! That’s the new Daily Planet building!”  
  
“You’re right!” Flamebird searched through them. “And that’s the City Hall, that’s the city reservoir, that’s the Metropolis Central Bank…”  
  
They broke off as the sound of voices cut through the silence. Athene tensed, and she felt the memories flood back at the sound of Arabic. She listened closely as she and the others took cover behind a shelf.  
  
“…can’t believe you dropped them,” one man said harshly. “If anyone found them…”  
  
“They’re just plans, pal,” came another voice, the Arabic accented a bit differently. “Just plans, nobody would know…”  
  
“Shut up! I knew it was a mistake letting a cringing idiot like you in on this…”  
  
The door swung open and four men – three Arabs and one Caucasian – walked in, followed by a fifth man in a business suit.  _He’s not Arabic – he’s Pakistani_. Athene had seen her share of foreign fighters back when she was in uniform, and she knew the difference. But this guy didn’t look anything like an actual jihadist.  
  
Of course, ideally no jihadist looked like one. Not the serious ones, anyway – the ones who looked like the sterotype were usually considered disposable cannon fodder by the leadership. The more able ones had to be capable of infiltration, after all… But even considering that, Athene could tell that the Pakistani wasn’t a fighter.  
  
He was observant, though. “Wha…where are…”  
  
Athene didn’t feel there was any point in dragging this out. She leapt forward, shield in front of her, colliding with one of the Arabs and bearing him to the ground. As he tried to get up, she pulled her fist back and punched him hard.  
  
There was a roar of rage, and she felt arms with some considerably-enhanced strength grab her. Without hesitating, she lashed her head backwards, feeling the nasal bone break beneath her helmet, then she rolled forwards and pitched her attacker over her head. She didn’t have time to go after him, instead raising her shield to guard against an attack from a third man. She took the blow, then stabbed out with her spear. He dodged back…just in time for Flamebird to pounce, kicking him hard in the side then jabbing him with a taser. The electricity crackled, but he kept his feet with a grunt of pain, before sliding a gun from beneath his coat and firing twice into Flamebird’s chest. Twice being all he had time for, as Athene – taking advantage of his distraction – jabbed her spear through his left calf, then smashed her shield into the side of his head. The other heroine was already back on her feet—armor in the suit, smart.   
  
She and Flamebird turned to face the one whose nose she’d broken…while the Caucasian guy had produced a K-Bar and took a swing at Eris. She vaulted back, then darted forward and smashed her bat into his side. He laughed. “That your best, little girl?” he demanded. “Barely felt it.” He lunged forward. “You’ll feel this…and you’ll learn your proper place…”  
  
He cannoned head-first into the empty shelf as Eris vaulted over him. As he tried to pick himself up, the shelf fell on top of him, pinning him. He snarled, and hurled the heavy metal aside…but now Eris had the Lasso out. It was around him in a second, then she whipped it sideways, slamming him into a wall like the end of a whip. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, just as Athene slammed into the final man and pinned him between the wall and her shield. Her head rocked back as a fist collided with the front of her helmet, but she stayed in place, holding on grimly as Flamebird produced another, much larger Taser, and zapped him.  
  
As he fell unconscious, the man in the suit turned and tried to run…only for Eris to tackle him to the ground. “Fuck!” he exclaimed.  
  
Athene loomed over him. “And you are?”  
  
The Pakistani swallowed, and sweat appeared on his forehead. “Em…I’m a warrior of the Black Hand! Glory to the…”  
  
Athene tapped the tip of her spear to his nose. “No you’re not.”  
  
“Can we string ‘im up, Red?” Eris asked eagerly. “I wanna see what  _this_  piñata has inside him.”  
  
Their captive’s eyes bugged out, and he began talking quickly. “No! No, look, I’m not with them at all! Well, I am, but I’m not a terrorist.”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
He took a breath. “Look…terrorist organizations need money. Rhetoric and promises of salvation, paradise, and all that don’t feed soldiers or make bullets. So…sometimes they sell stuff to raise it. Drugs, pirated merchandise, women…” He paused at the death-glares that met him, and plunged ahead hastily. “I…I deal. Drugs. And I got to know these guys when I was setting up a new heroin source. They sold me the good stuff, straight from Afghanistan, and I passed it on. But then they got back to me, asking…” He paused. “Asking, were any of my customers people in high places in the city. I gave ‘em a list of my, ah,  _respectable_  customers, and they came back with a guy they wanted me to lean on – promised me free product in return. It was Bobby Wells, he works for city planning. They wanted plans…”  
  
“These?” Flamebird demanded, holding up the plans in question.  
  
“Y-yeah.”  
  
“For an attack,” Athene’s voice was grim. “And you just grinned and took the drugs, knowing that’d happen. I shouldn’t be surprised, though – you make your living killing people anyway. This is just a bit faster.” She pressed slightly harder with her spear. “Is the attack at all of ‘em, or just one at a time?”  
  
“Just one! But I don’t know which!”  
  
She pressed harder, a tiny bead of blood appearing. “Why don’t I believe you?”  
  
“Lemme string ‘im up!” Eris pleaded.  
  
“I swear, I don’t! They never let me in on things – they thought I was a liability! Said I was nearly as bad as an infidel!”  
  
For a while, Athene stayed silent. Then nodded, pulling back the spear. “Now  _that_  I believe.”  
  
She stood. “We need to get back to the city – we’ll restrain these ones, leave ‘em for the police. We need to pass on warnings, try to prepare.”  
  
_And hope that this attack isn’t as soon as I fear it might be._  
  
“I’ve got Captain Sawyer on speed dial, she and I, uh, hang out at the same club,” Flamebird said, already pulling her own phone out.   
  
“Good,” Kate replied. She checked the time. 02:00. It’d be a little while getting back to the city, then some time to find Power Woman and Captain Sawyer…Here was hoping they had time.  
  
***  
  
_Warehouse District, Outer Metropolis, 10:30pm, June 28th, 2015_  
  
He could hear the fear, practically  _smell_  it floating out of the speaker. “Em…sir…we have a problem.” It was one of the neo-Nazis, an idiot called Lindman if he remembered correctly.  
  
“What?” His voice snarled and rasped, not sounding like anything that had even once been human.  
  
“The Aryan. He, ah, got caught.”  
  
He paused. “Caught?  _How_ , you useless lout? Was it Power Woman?”  
  
“Yeah. Her an’…that hero from Jump City. The one they call Athene.”  
  
“ _Zwei_ … Two women, subhumans both? And he just  _let_  them…” With an effort, he throttled back his anger. Superpowers evened the score between the superior and inferior races; even his old rival Reinhard had been killed by a degenerate Slav slut back in last days of what should have been the Thousand-Year-Reich. “Will he talk?”  
  
“God, no! No, none of ‘em will.”  
  
“See that they don’t. However you can.”  
  
“Sir?” Lindman sounded lost now. “We can’t…”  
  
“You  _will_. See it done…or should I find someone else to bring my  _product_  to?”  
  
There was a pause. “No, sir. No, we’ll deal with it.”  
  
“ _Zehr gut_.”  
  
He stabbed the phone off, then stalked out of the small bare office he’d taken over, pacing onto the walkway that hung over the old warehouse’s floor space.  
  
It was all here. The fruits of his and his employer’s research. Enough Titan’s Blood to tear this city apart.  
  
He moved awkwardly along the gantry, hobbling. He wasn’t used to normally walking, not anymore, and the coat he wore to shroud his true form felt awkward and restrictive.  
  
Bad enough he had to work with such pathetic, disorganized  _amateurs_ , accustomed to little more than Internet harassment. Worse by far that they called themselves ‘Nazis’.  _About the only thing they’re good for is random street violence. No organisation, no discipline, no will to **fight**  for the master Race_. And they were all Americans, of course. A bastard, mongrel race. Having any of them call themselves ‘Aryan’ was insulting, frankly.  
  
_Working with them was just as bad as working with the filthy Muslims_. Even the years he’d spent in Egypt for the  _Kameraden_  hadn’t dispelled his certainty that they were but one step up from  _Juden_. And these ones didn’t even have the scant discipline and training that the Egyptians had had.  _Though those years_ did  _let me establish my credentials, when I contacted these idiots._  
  
He eyed the crates below. Not much longer, then he could quit this wretched city, leave it to tear itself apart along with the rest of this degenerate country of miscegenated mongrel  _untermensch_ …  
  
Fafnir, lieutenant of Ares, nodded with satisfaction. What more fitting vengeance could he have on America, than making it divide from within?  
\--------------

 _Metropolis City Hall. 0800 hours, June 30th, 2015_.   
  
An unmarked black van’s brakes hissed as it slid up to the curb. Inside, Omar al-Saud pulled his balaclava over his face.   
  
“We get one chance at this. Remember, the Titan’s Blood lasts only twelve hours at this dosage, so we have to be ready to leave immediately after executing the infidels.” There was a general nodding of heads as the recruits pulled on their own masks. “If Power Woman shows up—well, those who die in God’s cause and are martyred for Him always go to Paradise.” He cocked his AK-47 and grabbed the van’s door. “ _Allahu akbar_!”  _God is great_.   
  
“ _Allahu akbar_!” the recruits roared back, toting their own guns. Al-Saud threw the door open and they stormed for the doors of the hall. Al-Saud led the way—let them see him lead the way when they faced mere mortals, the chaff would be his cover when the supers arrived.   
  
Metropolis PD officers shouted warnings, pulling up their pistols. Al-Saud took the stairs with inhuman ease, pulling off two burst and felling two men with matching screams as a pistol bullet snapped past his ear. He grabbed one infidel and threw him into the wall, leaving a bloody smear as the man crumpled to the ground. His supersoldiers, fueled by the power of the Titan’s Blood, swarmed the rest as al-Saud rammed his shoulder into the doors to force them open.   
  
“Move!” he roared. “In, in!  _Allahu akbar_!”  _God is great_. “ _Almawt 'iilaa alkuffar_!”  _Death to the infidels_.   
  
A deafening blast rang out, and al-Saud was thrown backwards, bleeding from multiple wounds. His Kevlar vest and the Titan’s Blood had protected him from the majority of the shotgun blast, but his mask and face were scratched and a pellet was stuck in his forearm.   
  
“You ain’t gettin’ past me, boy, powers or no powers,” rumbled a mountain of a black man in a Kevlar vest. He cocked the shotgun again and leveled it. “Put your hands in the air!”   
  
Al-Saud could’ve shot him, but decided to take the infidel down more personally. He lunged forwards, stumbling as the shotgun’s blast rammed into his midsection like the hammer of God, and swung a punch at the policeman, who dropped his gun, ducked with surprising speed, and slammed al-Saud in the gut.  _Hellfire_ , he was strong for a mere mortal—al-Saud slammed his fists into the man’s back, and was released, but the black man recovered too fast, and a massive fist eclipsed the terrorist’s vision before he flew backwards and slammed into one of his followers.   
  
An AK-47 reported, and the policeman fell with a gasp. Al-Saud got to his feet; the man was on the ground, gasping for breath with a bleeding hole in his upper chest, near the lung. At this range, the AK-47 had torn through the Kevlar. The ruined remains of his badge and nametag said  _Iron_  and then a letter that might’ve been  _s_  and might’ve been  _g_.   
  
“Keep moving!” al-Saud ordered. “Leave this infidel to bleed out! Secure the mayor, move, move!” The recruit who’d shot the policeman was shaking slightly, frozen in place. “Move! Do you want to get caught and die for nothing?” One of the boy’s friends grabbed his arm and tugged, unfreezing him. Good; they could have no weakness, not now.   
  
Al-Saud lead the charge into the hall, charging up the stairs for the mayoral offices. He felt his muscles  _sing_  with adrenaline and the profane power of the Titan’s Blood, and grinned to himself despite his worries. This would be  _easy_.   
  
***  
  
Kara Zor-El landed gently, breaking easily into a careful walk as she touched down. She lay the wheezing policeman onto a waiting gurney and waved to the paramedics. “Take him, he needs medical attention; ruptured lung, the bullet and some debris from his shirt and vest are still inside.”   
  
“Right!”   
  
“Good luck, Comrades.” Kara lifted off again, turning towards where her publicist and police contact waited. Olsen’s car was already at the city hall, just outside the police perimeter; the man himself was talking with Captain Sawyer, who was in full uniform and wearing a body camera. Both Humans turned as she approached, landing gently by Maggie’s car.   
  
“Mr. Olsen. Captain Sawyer. What do we have?”   
  
“Hostage situation,” Maggie reported grimly. “We got a tip from our new mutual friends that the Black Hand were planning an attack. No activity at the other sites, but here they hit our men, we’ve got what looks like four dead and one injured, plus Officer Wong is inside—Sergeant Irons told her to hide and report what she could via radio, then took on the terrorists.”   
  
Kara scanned the building, her Kryptonian eyes piercing the wall with ease. “Six hostiles—one on each set of stairs, two in the Mayor’s office, two on the doors to said office, about a dozen hostages. If I go in, they will kill several of the civilians. I want to avoid that.”   
  
“We were just discussing an idea about that,” Olsen put in. He held out an earpiece. “Flamebird—an, uh, local nonpowered vigilante—and the visitors from Jump City are on the line.”   
  
Kara accepted the earpiece and put it in. “Power Woman here.”   
  
“ _Hey, Pew!_ ”   
  
Kara couldn’t resist the grin. “Hello again, Eris. Athene, Flamebird, are you on?”   
  
“ _Athene here. We’ve got a plan_.”   
  
“ _Flamebird here, good to have you with us_.”   
  
“Lucy?” Kara raised an eyebrow at the familiar voice. “I knew your…”   
  
“ _I’m supposed to have a_ secret identity _, Kara_.”   
  
Kara blushed. “ _Сукин сын_. I apologize.” She turned back towards Maggie, cape fluttering in the breeze. “How do we handle this?”   
  
“ _Well, obviously we don’t want civilian casualties. Can you get in and out fast enough to avoid any of them pulling the trigger_?”   
  
Kara gauged the distance, then narrowed her eyes to stare straight through the walls. She tilted her head, considering. “No. Not without significant risk—I believe it to be more likely than not that they will be able to kill a hostage before I can disarm them all.”   
  
“ _Right. Then our plan’s pretty simple; you go up there in front of the hall and make a distraction; we three are heading around the back._ ”   
  
“Risky,” Kara noted. “Captain Sawyer, are you patched in?”   
  
Maggie fit in an earbud. “Now I am.”   
  
“Good.” Kara lifted off of the ground, squinting as she focused her supervision. “Lu—Flamebird, sorry, and Athene, take Eris up to the second floor from the outside, use one of the balconies. Are you equipped for silent takedown?”   
  
“ _I have Thelma—uh, my big Taser. She’s designed to take down a charging rhino, she should work._ ”   
  
“ _We’ve_ GOT _to get you a girlfriend, Luce—uh, Flamebird_ ,” Sawyer muttered.   
  
“ _Well, not_ all _of us can date sexy biochemists who can cosplay Jane Bond and look better than Scar-Jo while doing it,_ ” the ex-Marine complained. “ _I don’t have a spare, though_.”   
  
“Then we rely on Athene. You will need to land behind one and prevent him from raising the alarm or firing exactly as Flamebird fires her Taser, while I am distracting the terrorists.”   
  
“ _I can do it—won’t be easy, but I can do it_.”   
  
“Good. Stage two, I will try to draw the two on the doors into the Mayor’s office. When that is done, you will need to silently disable them from behind, then take down the terrorist leader and the other holding the hostages with him.”   
  
“ _Risky_ ,” Maggie pointed out. “ _And you’ll need a megaphone_.” She waved up at Kara from the ground, holding one that she’d grabbed from her squad car. Kara floated down within throwing range, and caught the megaphone out of the air. “ _I’ll let you do this, but DON’T get the civilians killed_.”   
  
“I can see through walls, I will not order the attack until I am absolutely certain that it is safe.” Kara centered herself in a nice, visible spot in front of the city hall. Two thugs were visible through the mayor’s office’s large windows, holding a tanned white man and a black woman with guns to their heads. Kara squinted; AK-47s, late model, with modified barrels. That would be to accommodate the bullets she’d seen in the wounded policeman. Teflon-coated, nine-millimeter. A round developed by the Soviet Union in the 1970s to counter metahumans with high durability as the first wave of new metahumans began to appear.   
  
“They came armed for supers. Be aware that hostiles are armed with armor-piercing nine-millimeter rounds in modified Kalashnikovs,” Kara said. “Commencing negotiations.” She pulled the megaphone up, cleared her throat, and pressed the button.   
  
“This is Power Woman. Terrorist hostage-takers, I am here to deal with you. Please respond verbally, my superhuman senses will allow me to hear you.”   
  
“ _Stand firm!_ ” the older man in the Mayor’s office admonished the younger. “ _We have the Blood, she cannot harm us!_ ”   
  
“We shall see,” Kara replied. “Now…”   
  
“ _If you move, we will kill them!_ ” the older man snarled. “ _Believe me, it will be done!_ ”   
  
“And then you will be captured, tried for murder, and if found guilty duly sentenced to life in prison for the crime.” Kara squinted; in the building, Lucy’s cape flared as she dropped down right behind one of the terrorists, jerking his gun hand aside before he knew what was happening and jamming her Taser into his back. The man crumpled with a muffled scream; on the other staircase, the other man fell as Athene gripped him in a submission hold and Eris grabbed his gun. The men at the office doors were distracted by Kara’s dialogue with the terrorists, turning into the open office doors. “What do you want?”   
  
The leader laughed. “ _It is not anything that you can give me, you overly-endowed whore._ ”   
  
“Come on. That was uncalled for. I do not comment on the size of your…boyhood, it is quite rude to comment on my chest.”   
  
“ _I am the one with the hostages, bitch! I do what I want with them, and I say what I want!_ ”   
  
“Alright. Alright, please calm down, just calm down and please tell me what you want.”   
  
“ _You do not already know? Ha! I want your filthy civilization of sin and vice brought to the ground, and all those who do not believe in the one true God to be sent straight to Hell!_ ”   
  
“There must be something material, though. Or perhaps your more immediate needs—security camera footage showed us that you were hit with pellets from a shotgun. Do you need medical supplies?”   
  
The man laughed harshly. “ _Fool! I was unharmed by the puny mortal weapon. We have weaponized the power of false gods, to be used in the service of Allah. You cannot possibly defeat us when you are so completely uninformed of our power_.”   
  
“Power of the…” Kara pretended to cough, a burst of static coming through the megaphone, then turned her head into her elbow, turning off the megaphone and whispering into her earpiece. “Strike team,  _now_!”   
  
“ _What the…_ ” the terrorist leader exclaimed as the two men on the doors were taken down via Taser and headlock, respectively. As he half-turned, Kara’s gaze spat out, melting the barrel of his gun into useless goop in an instant and boring a hole through the window. Worth the cost. Her next shot took out the last terrorist’s gun, and the man screamed in rage as he tried to fire, and the weapon merely jumped in his hands, the bullet’s progress arrested. Flamebird and Eris jumped him, the ex-Marine slamming into his torso as Eris moved in with her bat.   
  
“ _Bitch! You won’t stop us!_ ” The leader threw his hostage and useless gun to the ground, and threw a punch at Athene, but the superheroine was in a whole other weight class. She caught the punch on her shield and then bullrushed the terrorist, sending him flying through the air and out the window. Kara, feeling that it would be dramatically appropriate and a good way to build goodwill, caught the man in midair, delivered a devastating uppercut to his chin, and dropped to the ground.   
  
“Job done, all hostages rescued. Thank you for the megaphone, Captain Sawyer. Excellent work, Comrades, you must allow me to buy you a round at the pub tomorrow.”   
  
“ _I know just the bar_ ,” Lucy replied.   
  
***  
  
_Henshaw Tower, Metropolis. 9:00 PM, June 30th, 2015_.   
  
“It’s all these damn refugees, we let them into our country and they bring crime and terrorism!” Hank Henshaw yelled to his adoring fans. “I heard that these terrorists, three of them, or maybe four, I heard as many as five even, were refugees, and some of them were American citizens! You can’t trust these Muslims, bringing crime and terrorism, they’re bad for our country, so bad, so very bad, hurting our country, and Lane’s doing nothing to stop them! They hate our culture, they hate our religion, they hate our freedom, and the President just lets them in! I’m strong, not like weak Lois Lane, I’m a real tough negotiator, so many business deals, so strong, so tough, so rich, so successful, and I’m not afraid to say that the problem is Islamic terrorism!” Henshaw paused for breath. His fans roared their applause. “Thank you, thank you, you’re a really wonderful group of people here today, so good, love me so much, love my success so much, so rich, I’m very successful, very good.”   
  
“Hail Humanity!” a man in the front row screamed. “Hail Henshaw!” He did a cross-armed salute in the air in front of him. Christ, some of these people were nuts. Where did Sean find all these crazies?   
  
“We need to keep our country safe!” Hank shouted. “When I’m President, I’ll ban all of these Islamics and Muslims from our country! I’ll stop them from building their mosques, I heard that they were cheering in the streets in Jump City, thousands of Muslims cheering these animals today, I believe it, I’m sure I saw it somewhere, we need to stop them from bringing their terrorist religion and their hate into our country!” Whipping these people into a frenzy was almost laughably easy. If only they knew how hard Bentley had worked to smuggle the Black Hand operatives into the country and to get them those weapons—they couldn’t have done it at all without Bentley’s  _other_  employer.   
  
“Vote for me to make America strong again!” Hank continued. “Trust me, it’ll be beautiful, believe me, so rich, I’ll make a list of the terrorists, make the terrorists register with us so we know who they are, we’ll stop terrorism, so strong, so good, so tough.” More cheers. “Thank you, such a good crowd, so smart, just like me, we’re gonna be so strong, so smart, so rich.”   
  
It was almost too easy.   
  
After he’d wrapped up and left the podium to some up-and-coming Lefkowitz guy from BiteBark News, Hank went straight back to his penthouse. He needed some goddam champagne to celebrate.   
  
“Sean,” Hank greeted his campaign manager as he strolled into his penthouse, loosening his tie. “You missed a good one—and hey, it was a great idea to get those ragheads to attack City Hall, good job helping me get my great idea made.”   
  
“Uh-huh.” Bentley didn’t look up from where he was staring, jaw set, at the TV; nor did he correct Henshaw on the matter of contacting the terrorists being Bentley’s idea. Hank took a look at the screen, wondering what could…  
  
“ _…police have confirmed that a group of approximately six terrorists linked to an extremist group called the Black Hand attacked City Hall, but were foiled by Power Woman, the vigilante Flamebird, and two visiting superheroes._ ” On the screen, Power Woman floated easily over the ground, carrying a slumping black man in a bloody police uniform and Kevlar vest. “ _Metropolis’s newest superheroine spoke to the press briefly after the incident._ ”   
  
The image shifted to the buxom blonde, arms crossed as she spoke to a slender brunette holding a microphone. Henshaw tried to focus on what she was saying rather than how much he wanted to grab her by the pussy.   
  
“ _…they had superhuman powers, yes. Low-category strength and enhanced durability, very similar to that fascist thug I helped contain yesterday_.”   
  
“ _Do you think they are linked_?” the reported questioned.   
  
“ _Two groups, with similar recruitment methods and ideology, showing up with members who have the same sort of powers? It is not coincidence. Someone is supplying both groups, and I intend to find out who_.”   
  
Bentley shut off the screen with a snarl of disgust. “ _Fuck_  that bitch. Fucking bimbo whore’s too smart for her own good.”   
  
“Is she on to us?” Hank asked, trying not to sound scared.   
  
“Not  _yet_ , but the bitch will be.” Bentley shook his head. “I talked with one of my recruits who I transferred to our supplier. He says that the other supers, those dykes from Jump City and that Flamebird bitch, went and took down one of the Black Hand guys and got the maps and plans for the attack—that’s how they were able to respond so fast. The cops kept the arrests quiet, bastards.”   
  
“Do we have options?”   
  
Bentley snickered. “Oh, yeah.” He pulled up a number on his smartphone. “I bet you ten to one the MPD metahuman liaison is behind the cops cooperating with these supers—she was at city hall before Power Woman even got there, and she talked for over half an hour with the Jump City visitors.” He hit  _Send_. The smartphone rang twice, then picked up; the other end of the line was silent.   
  
“What’s…”   
  
“ _Shh_ ,” Bentley admonished. “Uh, I mean, shhh,  _sir_.” He turned back to the phone. “Corben. This is Bentley. We have a job for you. Simple stuff—kill a cop, take a couple shots at a super if she shows up and kill her if you can, then bail. Five hundred thousand. Be here by noon tomorrow, complete the mission by the 5th.”   
  
Silence. Then, “ _Who’s the target_?”   
  
“A local cop. Her name’s Maggie Sawyer. Secondary’s a new super, you might’ve seen her on the news—she’s a blonde A-lister with a red cape called Power Woman.”   
  
A moment of silence, with a bizarre hiss, pop, and crackle over the line. Then, “ _I’m in._ ”   
  
***  
  
_Metropolis University Teaching Hospital. 9:10 PM, June 30th, 2015_.   
  
Kara strode in through the sliding doors, ignoring the awed whispers and pointed fingers. Her cape flowed smoothly behind her, not quite dragging on the ground. She approached the receptionist, who was thankfully not busy.   
  
“Er, yes, uh, Power Woman, ma’am?”   
  
“A man named John Henry Irons, a local police officer, was injured during the terrorist attack and taken here after I evacuated him. May I see him?”   
  
“Ah, please just let me check, ma’am.” Kara nodded and waited. “Uh, it says here he’s stable, he’s been moved out of the ICU and they’ve let his daughter in, so I think it’s all right, because you’re a superhero and all…”   
  
“Oh, if it’s against policy I can come back tomorrow, I’m just worried about his condition…”   
  
“It’s fine, ma’am, really, it says here that the daughter asked about you and OKed you going up, actually.” The receptionist pointed to an elevator bank. “Third floor, room 307.”   
  
“Is there a working window? I don’t want to take up space on the elevator.”   
  
“Er, yes, I believe so, ma’am. It’s the corner room on the third floor.”   
  
“Excellent. Thank you very much for your help.”   
  
“No…no problem, ma’am.”   
  
Kara stepped outside, then kicked off, lazily flying up to the window indicated. Inside, the massive police officer lay asleep on a hospital bed, IVs entering his arm, and a slender young woman with lightish brown skin sat by his side in a wheelchair. She looked up as Kara entered. “Power Woman!”   
  
“Yes. Is he well?”   
  
“Thanks to you, yes—the doctors said that if it hadn’t been for you retrieving my father the damage might’ve killed him.” She sniffled softly and blew her nose. “I was working on my wheelchair when I heard. He wasn’t even supposed to  _be_  there, he volunteered for that shift because I wanted a Barnhof capacitor for my next project with this thing, and he was working overtime to get the money even though I  _told_  him I could figure something out.” She sniffed again, and Kara knelt by her side, laying a powerful but gentle arm over her shoulder. “It’s all  _my_  fault he’s hurt, that he could have  _died_!”   
  
“ _No_ ,” Kara replied, firm and unmovable. “That blame lies on the man who shot him, who is currently occupying an 8-by-10 cell. Does your father work overtime often?”   
  
“Yes. He’s always working  _so_  hard, doing so much. Since Mom died and the…the thing in Kandahar, and me coming home, he’s supported us both. He got a medal for exemplary service, and at the ceremony his captain  _told_  him to stop working so hard.”   
  
“Your father sounds like a very good and noble man,” Kara said. The girl sniffled again. “What is your name?”   
  
“Natasha. Natasha Irons. My mother chose it.”   
  
“Nice to meet you, Natasha. I’m Kara.” Natasha’s eyes widened and her breath hitched. “No, you can’t track my civilian identity with that, I use an alias. But it  _is_  my real name.”   
  
“I…why tell  _me_?”   
  
“Because beneath this suit, I’m a person just like you. Just like your father. And you know what?  _You_ ’re a superhero to him—he works so hard, does so much for you because you mean the world to him. And right now, he needs you to be strong, to not blame yourself, and to keep yourself going while he recovers.” Natasha sobbed quietly, but nodded shakily. “Now, do you have a way to support yourself?”   
  
“We have some spending money, and his insurance is covering the costs, but there really isn’t much I can do, I’m a technician discharged at 23 and I can’t walk…”   
  
“No pension from the Army?”   
  
Natasha shook her head. “That goes mostly into my medical bills. The Veterans’ Affairs mess three years ago screwed over a lot of people.”   
  
Kara nodded in understanding—she remembered seeing a news story about that. Criminal mishandling of the department of Veterans’ Affairs and embezzlement by a Suarez Administration appointee had led to the current administration shaking up the entire department, but the funds hadn’t been recovered and the opposition party had gutted the division further in their next budget, which had cost them two House seats in the midterms. “I see. Well, I have some friends who can probably help you out. I have a  _reasonable_  stockpile of money saved up—granted most of it is in rub—er, foreign currency, but I can use some of that, and contact the Murphy Foundation…” She could take the loss, especially since her clothes budget should be cut down a bit thanks to these durable costumes.   
  
“Oh, no, you can’t, I can’t ask you to use your own money…”   
  
“Please.” Kara quieted her with a finger on her lips, and smiled down at the crying woman. “I had a decent pension from my, ah, previous life and for fighting in…well, a war. And my expenses are minimal. It will be no impediment to my life. Also, the Murphy Foundation is fully equipped to help victims of metahuman violence, and I believe that Captain Murphy himself is a very firm advocate for veterans’ rights. He will have no qualms about helping you stay solvent until your father recovers.”   
  
“I… _thank you_. Thank you  _so much_ , if there’s any way I can repay you…”   
  
“You can repay me by being a hero. Not a superhero, not a dramatic showboat throwing lasers and super-strong punches around—but an ordinary, everyday hero, who does what she can every day to be there for those who need her and to make the world a better place. Alright?”   
  
Natasha Irons nodded, fiddling with a switch on her wheelchair’s control console. Something deep within its motorized guts hummed. “Yes. I understand. And I will.”   
  
Kara squeezed her shoulders gently. “Thank you.”   
  
***  
  
_Near Metropolis. 1:30 AM, July 2nd, 2015_.   
  
The hooded figure waited patiently in the gloom of an alley near a vacant lot. Tall and bulky, its cloak draped oddly over its massive body.   
  
An unmarked Cadillac slid to a halt at the front of the alley, and a grey-haired man with a lumpy face and scruffy hairdo stepped out. The man shut the door, waved the driver on, and stepped into the darkness.   
  
“Fafnir,” Sean Bentley addressed the hooded figure. “Henshaw’s fucking pissed.”   
  
“ _It was not **my**  fault the operation failed_,” the figure hissed, in a metallic growl. The accent was harsh, an old-fashioned German sort. “ _Your_ untermensch _so-called lackeys failed to use the Titan’s Blood to its full potential. You should have trusted proper Aryans,_ Herr _Bentley_.”   
  
“Yeah, well, the only Aryans we’ve got are fucking idiots who get their asses kicked by Power Woman,” Bentley snarled. “Recruits have gone down in quality since your day.”   
  
“ _They are but apes trying to imitate **gods**_ ,” Fafnir snapped back. “ _You must teach them discipline,_ Herr _Bentley_.”   
  
“You think organizing a bunch of stupid kids on the Internet is easy?” Bentley replied. “I have a hard enough time indoctrinating those little shits before you get them wasted on petty shit like that so-called “Aryan” tried to pull, and now I’m gonna have to dump Lefkowitz because he got caught talking about how he wants to touch little boys.” There was a sour twist to his mouth. Bentley had few standards, even by the measure of neo-Nazis, but even he disdained pedophiles. “And then there’s this Power Woman bitch. She’s  _too_  powerful, and she’s not giving us the metrics or leverage we need to fuel the movement, no matter  _how_  much we red-bait. The unions love her, she’s destroyed our pull in Michigan and Wisconsin in less than a week, and now she’s making the rounds on the late-night circuit for kicking that idiot’s ass after you gave him the Blood.”   
  
“ _You let the subhuman bitch master you_ ,” Fafnir hissed. “ _Perhaps the fault is not with your lackeys…_ ”   
  
“That’s rich, considering whose little science project punched through Himmler’s bunker in ’44 while wearing star-spangled pants,” Bentley shot back. Fafnir reared back with a snort of surprise. “Yeah, I did my research,  _Oskar_. Now, listen here, I’ve got Henshaw in hand—he’s easy to manipulate, you just have to massage his ego. But I need more Blood, and I can deliver on Ares’s demands if I get it. I guarantee you, the American government will be in ruins in two years, then we can restructure the system to a proper fascist state by Christmas ’17.”   
  
“ _You promise much_.”   
  
“Pot, meet kettle.”   
  
Fafnir rumbled deep in his chest. “ _One chance, Bentley._ ”   
  
“You won’t regret it. We’re rising in the polls even with Power Woman, it won’t be a comfortable margin but it’ll be a margin. And I’m bringing a man in to get rid of that bitch.”   
  
“ _You will succeed. For your sake, if nothing else. Ares looks poorly on failure_.” A metal claw extended from beneath the cloak, bearing a suitcase. Bentley took it with a nod.   
  
“Trust me. Two years, this dump  _will_  serve Henshaw, and through him m—Ares.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villain profile courtesy of @theg*ddam*hoi2fan  
> Name: SS-Major Dr Oskar Hellmann.  
> Alias: Fafnir.  
> Age: 117  
> Appearance: Usually shrouded in a long, dark cloak. Hunched, seems to move awkwardly.Beneath the cloak: a creature of metal. Bipedal, but with huge wings and a dragon's head, limbs and claws. His mouth incorporates lasers that shine brightest green, and he's superhumanly strong and capable of flight.  
> Backstory: Former SS doctor - worked on the Ubermensch project, but was forced out by the ambitious Reinhard Heydrich. Hellmann, outraged, attempted to build a different superman with Allied POWs; this went Horribly Right, and one of his creations, gifted with superhuman strength and nigh-invulnerability, destroyed Hellmann's facility before returning to Allied lines, eventually becoming the American superhero Captain Freedom. 
> 
> More of a pseudo-scientist than a true one: had solid biology/medical experience, but was also a personal friend of Heinrich Himmler and a believer in the more occult side of Nazism. Believed that the German people were natural warriors but needed 'motivation' to awake the beast within.
> 
> Fled to South America following the war: attempted to work on several plans to bring about a Fourth Reich but was let down by the practical issues against such a plan (namely that even most of the German exile community thought he was insane). Also worked with ODESSA to spirit certain Nazis away, which involved frequent visits to the Middle East as well as work in Latin America.
> 
> Finally was close to death in the mid-1990s, until Ares appeared...offered him eternal life in exchange for his services. Hellmann agreed, and changed his failing body for a arcane one of mysterious technology, one that was immune to all the weaknesses of the flesh. 
> 
> Hellmann has worked for Ares since then. The mass-production of Titan's Blood was made possible thanks to him, as were certain other things. 
> 
> Hellmann still believes that the German people need 'motivation' to be what he considers great. Ares' plan thus suits him, as the German people will find themselves fighting for their survival. Let them rediscover their warrior heritage, and Hellmann will return in triumph to the Fatherland, to forge the new Teuton heroes into the Fourth Reich, which truly shall last a thousand years this time. Or so he believes. And Ares encourages this belief, as it has led him to actually produce useful material rather than wearing black robes and chanting. 
> 
> Currently in Metropolis supervising operations. Being an actual Nazi gives him the basis of a working relationship with the neo-Nazis Ares supplies with Titan's Blood, while his time in the Middle East - helping war criminals escape to the region and moonlighting in trying to help Egypt develop bio-weapons to attack Israel - allows him to work tolerably with Muslim extremists. Even though he utterly despises both groups, viewing Muslims as subhuman and neo-Nazis as pathetic imitations of his Aryan ideal.


	5. За Батьківщину, за справедливість, за Свободу!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 written by worffan101, with some help from theg*ddam*hoi2fan to fill in the gaps. 
> 
> This concludes our two-part terrorism mini-arc, and includes setup for both the climax of the Ares arc and a future arc planned for after episode 16. 
> 
> Don't read if you like: Donald Trump, Frank Miller's "Holy Terror", or Nazis.

_The Kremlin. Moscow, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. August 4th, 1945_.   
  
Katarina Vasil’yevna Popova landed hard, sending spiderweb cracks across the floor. Her cape flared resplendently behind her, the hammer and sickle proud upon her chest, still slender with youth. “I am  _done_ ,” the Red Star snarled, her eyes glowing red.   
  
Josef Stalin, leader of the Soviet Union, looked up slowly from the papers before him, his bodyguards standing uselessly at his sides, their guns mere toys compared to the might of the Red Star. To Stalin’s credit, the evil little man moved slowly and deliberately, casually raising a hand to take the cigar from his mouth, only the tiniest shake of his hand betraying the raw fear and rage coursing through his veins. “I believe I misheard you,  _tovarisch_. And I  _furthermore_  believe that you are needed to show yourself for the victory parade.”   
  
“You did not mishear me,” Katarina snapped. “I am  _done_. I killed the Nazis, I brought you Hitler, I left  _Der Übermensch_  broken on the streets of Berlin—and I am done. I will kill no one else, especially not for you.”   
  
“Your services to the people of the Soviet Union are required quite urgently,” Stalin growled, his pockmarked face further marred by an ugly scowl. “I am sure that you do not intend to  _force my hand_?”   
  
Katarina’s eyes burned brighter. “You forget who is the metahuman who can tear apart steel and who is the man of blood and clay.” The power of the Red Star was unmatched by any power on Earth with the death of  _Der Übermensch_ , and Stalin knew it. The dictator, however, did not frown, but simply nodded, Herculean effort reducing his rage to a twitch in his jaw.   
  
“And there is no way that you can be convinced otherwise,  _tovarisch_? Perhaps a nice dacha for your family, a promotion for your sister?”   
  
“We are  _done_ , you pig,” the Red Star growled. “You starved my family and our country for years, killing thousands upon thousands, twelve years ago. Did you think we would forget, that the people of Ukraine would let that slide forever just because there was a greater threat to fight?”   
  
“You forget yourself,  _tovarisch_ ,” Stalin snarled back, rising and taking another puff from his cigar. “What do you think would happen if you killed me out of some misplaced sense of patriotism for a nation that no longer exists and will never exist again, hmm? A pity, would it not be, if Lavrently Pavlovich were to issue a small order…and a trigger were to  _slip_ , and your dear, sweet sister, Hero of the Soviet Union and all, were to die?”   
  
The middle of Stalin’s desk snapped down the middle as the Red Star’s fists pounded its surface. The wood itself  _atomized_  into powder from her sheer power, the air around her glowing eyes igniting from the incredible heat. “ _If my family dies, you will be the first to be turned to ash, and then I will burn the entire Soviet Union to the ground as your grave!_ ”   
  
Stalin smirked. With his moustache, he looked almost cheerful. “Then you will make your appearance, will you not?”   
  
“Go eat a horse’s cock.”   
  
Stalin frowned. “You wish for your sister to die?” the dictator demanded.   
  
“You cannot hurt her, not without dying yourself.” And Katarina knew, with that twitch of his eyelid, that she had read the man correctly. On top of all else, Stalin would preserve himself above all.   
  
“You are a bourgeois  _bitch_.”   
  
“I don’t care. I’m done. Now, terms?”   
  
Stalin ground his teeth. “Very…well.”   
  
“I want to be officially dead. Tell them I was injured badly at Berlin and died in my sleep, grand funeral or posthumous accolade or whatever suits your fragile ego. My sister and I retire quietly and the rest of the regiment goes their separate ways.”   
  
“You must give up the cape,” Stalin demanded. Katarina paused, frowning.   
  
“You are in no position to…”   
  
“NO!” Stalin shouted, his guards jolting with surprise. “The Red Star is the  _living icon_  of the Soviet Union.  _Katarina Popova_  is just a girl.  _You will give up the cape, and never act as the Red Star again_.”   
  
Katarina set her jaw. “We get state pensions as required for our service. You don’t touch Nadezhda’s awards, and you don’t touch mine either—I don’t want anyone finding us by looking for suspicious revocations.” Stalin would hate that last part, the man was nothing if not petty, but he ground his teeth and nodded. “Also, my name does not leave this room.”   
  
Stalin looked over his shoulder at one of the guards. “Very well. If either of them talk, Lavrently Pavlovich will have them and their daughters.” Both guards, already shaking with fear at Katarina’s display of rage and power, paled visibly at that; Lavrently Beria had a noisome reputation for good reason.   
  
“Done,” Katarina replied, curt and harsh. “I hope that you enjoy leading a nation without your figurehead hero, Stalin. As of this day the Red Star is dead.”   
  
She strode from the room and took off, making it out of the Kremlin before unclenching her fists and allowing her hands to shake with the beginnings of the toxic witches’ brew of sorrow, rage, and agony that she had felt coming for hours.   
  
The Red Star was dead. But Kara Zor-El was, unfortunately, alive.   
  
***  
  
 _Metropolis, United States of America. 8:15 AM, July 4th, 2015_.   
  
Four SWAT vans pulled up outside a supposedly vacant warehouse, the rear doors opening and disgorging a group of heavily-armed men and women in body armor, accompanied by three supers, one with a baseball bat, one with a stylized bird emblazoned on her chest, and one in ancient Greek hoplite armor and bearing a golden lasso and shield. A fourth super, a tall, powerful blonde clad in white, dropped from the sky, red cape flaring behind her as she landed.   
  
“Captain Sawyer,” the flyer said with a nod to one of the policewomen. “Where are the FBI operatives?”   
  
“Here,” said a man in SWAT gear, indicating two others with him. “Special Agent Benjamin Lockwood, FBI. This is Randy Disher, my partner.”   
  
“Lockwood contacted the MPD last night, the MPD suspects that an American is supplying the Black Hand,” Captain Sawyer said. “You have super-senses, right, Kara? Can you tell us what’s in there?”   
  
Kara shook her head. “No, Captain. I cannot penetrate the walls with my X-ray vision, they appear to be lined with lead. However, there are additional cars around the back—unmarked models of various makes, I suspect that we have company.”   
  
“Good thing we brought the assault gear,” Maggie noted. “Alright, we’ve got a warrant, and reason to believe that there are armed terrorists in there, so we go in armed and we go in fast with metahuman backup. Can you lead, please, Kara? Since you’re invulnerable it’d be great to have someone to soak up the bullets just in case.”   
  
Kara smiled. “Of course.”   
  
***  
  
Kara Zor-El knocked the warehouse doors clean off their hinges with one punch. “Lay down your weapons and surrender immediately!” she demanded, floating up into the air above the main floor with her eyes glowing red. “Comply, or I will be forced to take you in by force. We know that this is the Black Hand base, if you surrender and give up the Titan’s Blood, you will be given lenient treatment.” Behind her, Athene, Eris, Flamebird, and a squad of MPD cops armed with super-killer guns fanned out, weapons ready.   
  
The warehouse was empty save for piles of boxes and metal cases, but faint lights shone towards the rear and through cracks in the closed windows. Kara narrowed her eyes, the police turning attached gun flashlights on just in case. “Be ready,” Kara warned. “They are prepared. Not well, but they have positions, and what appears to be a metahuman of some sort. Athene, Eris, cover my left flank; Captain Sawyer, the right with your men, Flamebird, with me.”   
  
A hissing chuckle rang out from the dark, cavernous gloom ahead. “ ** _Zehr gut, Fraulein_** ,” the voice snarled. Metal clanked against stone, and something dark and undeniably inhuman slipped off of the crates ahead. “ _You are correct, of course. **Untermensch**  they may be, but my minions are ready for you. And duly dosed with the Blood, of course._” The figure lurched forwards, a metal claw visible from beneath its cloak as one foot slipped a bit ahead, the dim light more than enough for Kara’s inhuman eyes.   
  
“That is far enough,” Kara replied, her voice firm and calm. “You will surrender, metahuman.”   
  
Another chuckle. “ _Surrender? To a degenerate such as yourself? Ha! I would rather see the Thousand-Year-Reich die a thousand deaths than debase myself by surrendering to_ you.” The cloak’s hood was thrown back, the lights clacking on dramatically as someone threw a switch. Several of Maggie’s officers swore and shielded their eyes. Kara didn’t even flinch, unfazed by the metahuman’s theatrics.   
  
The  _thing_  was a metal, draconic form, about eight feet tall. The eyes and mouth blazed with green fire as the creature stood to its full height, throwing off the cloak entirely. “ _BEHOLD!_ ” the monster howled. “ _THE INVINCIBLE MAGIC OF THE TEUTONIC GODS! THE INEVITABLE DESTINY OF THE GERMAN **VOLK**!_ ”   
  
“ **Do you surrender**?” Kara growled, her voice steel.   
  
“ ** _Ich bin Fafnir, Zorn des Reiches_**!” the metal dragon howled. “ _You are just a subhuman, and I will kill you just as **Der Übermensch**  killed the Red Star, even if it costs me my own life! I will never surrender, and you_…” The rest of his rant was cut off as Kara’s eyes set the air itself on fire with the heat of her wrath, and Fafnir flew backwards as if he’d been hit in the chest by a charging rhino.   
  
“TAKE COVER!” Maggie screamed. Kara shut off her heat vision as she landed in a blur, sweeping sideways and knocking the police to the ground, Athene’s shield sheltering Eris as bullets bounced harmlessly from the wall and Athene’s armor. Kara was  _reasonably_  sure that Athene was durable enough that a super-killer round would to little more than cause her pain and a few scratches, but she needed to end this fight fast either way.   
  
The Kryptonian powered forwards with incredible speed, knocking a dozen crates over onto the men behind, who cursed—some in English and some in Arabic. Some were white, she noticed as she turned to spit fire down the row, obliterating guns as the other terrorists instinctively turned to shoot her. And those were white-supremacist gang tattoos.  _Nazis and Muslim extremists working together? This Ares has incredibly talented diplomats, it seems._    
  
“ ** _NEIN_**!” Fafnir roared, and green fire washed over Kara, the extremists around her screaming in agony, the heat melting the metal of their guns and somehow, impossibly, scorching Kara herself. The Kryptonian yelled in shock as she felt pain for the first time in seventy years, clutching the side of her face as she rolled sideways, left hand coming up in a hit that would have instantly atomized a cinderblock, catching Fafnir in the middle of his leap and sending him flying off of her and through the ceiling. Her cape was on fire, her hair was singed, her face and right arm were an angry red like a sunburn, and her costume was barely staying together on the right. Kara shrieked in rage and rocketed off of the ground, streaking through the hole in the warehouse roof and grabbing Fafnir by the metal throat.   
  
***  
  
Athene felt her shield vibrate as the rounds slammed into them, felt her armor sing as a few super-killer rounds caught her shoulders. Growling, she hurled the Lasso out, catching up a box and throwing it into a cluster of men.  
  
“Red! Shield!” Eris called.  
  
Athene nodded, then dropped to her knees, shield raised up…then, as Eris ran forward and leapt onto her shield, Athene  _heaved_ , hurling her smaller partner high into the air.  
  
Eris spun above their enemies, twisting athletically and producing a strange-looking device that looked like a cross between a glaive and a gun, glowing light pink. As she turned, she triggered the Amazon weapon, sending a fusillade of energy-bursts into the enemy below. Several fell, stunned, and others turned to fire on her.  
  
Which meant that they were standing exposed. Gunfire from Maggie and her officers tore into them, and Athene was powering forward, shield up and spear now in hand. Her charge brought one down, then her spear flicked out, hamstringing one.  
  
Athene could barely see Power Woman so fast did she move. She  _felt_  the white-clad super more than anything, felt the raw  _force_  contained within her and felt its impact on her foe from halfway across the cavernous warehouse.  _She might not actually be a god, but she sure is the next best thing_ …  
  
A heavy blow to her shield made her turn as a huge white man, the numbers ‘88’ tattooed in black on his crimson head, came at her with a pick handle. He was _immense_ , the veins in his face and neck standing out viciously, and his arms looking like they were about to explode from the rippling muscle underneath. “DIE!” he roared.  
  
He swung again, but Kate slammed the edge of her shield into his now-exposed stomach, making him stagger back. “Nice muscles. A lot of vigorous arm use on both sides?” she asked.  
  
With a roar of utter wrath, he came for her again, this time swinging both the handle and his left fist. Kate caught the handle on her shield, the force of impact making it fly apart in a cloud of splinters. Then she twisted away from the fist, flicking her red cape into his eyes. As he stumbled, hand flying to his eyes, she charged, launching herself from the ground and holding her shield out in front of her. The force of the impact sent the enemy flying back into a pillar, ribs cracking as he was pinned between her, her shield and concrete. “You…you bitch…” he wheezed. “You…you can’t win…you’re…woman…”  
  
“You’re a tank of a man, you’re hopped up on a vicious amount of Titan’s Blood…and still, I took you down. Chew on  _that_ , you little  _goyim_  fuck.”  
  
Kate whirled, letting her enemy fall as she searched for new targets. Just in time to see Eris and Flamebird in the middle of things, laying into a cluster of different enemies. Eris…Kate half-sighed, half-laughed. She was clearly listening to music  _again_ , but as usual it didn’t seem to be making her fighting any less effective. And she sang along as she swung her bat and the Amazon weapon. “ _Swedish pa-agans, marching ashore! Forged in Valhalla by the Hammer of Thor_ …”  
  
 _Well, nothing’s more guaranteed to annoy Nazis than singing songs about the Norse gods while beating them into a pulp. Bonus points if they knew we were Jewish._  
  
She paused, eyes fixing on the police. They were advancing, but… “ _Hola_!” she called, arm dropping her spear and flicking her Lasso out again. The glowing cord wrapped around the Indonesian-looking man who’d been sneaking up behind Maggie, then with a jerk of her arm Athene sent him flying into the opposite wall. She had time to see Maggie nod her thanks, then she was scooping up her shield again and charging to help Eris and Flamebird.  
  
All the while, keeping an awed eye on the center of the battle as Power Woman fought the dragon.  
  
***  
  
“ _Damn you!_ ” Fafnir shrieked as Kara climbed higher into the air. “ _The Red Star is dead! Ground beneath the boots of our Reich and our Übermensch_!” Kara’s fist met his metal jaw, and he howled as she yanked him close with a savage snarl.   
  
“ _I did not die at Berlin_ ,” she hissed in Ukrainian-accented German, and Fafnir growled with shock. “ _I killed Reinhard Heydrich, snapped his neck and left him to rot on the streets. Everything after that? A lie. I was barely injured, just bruising and a few damaged ribs. And the Superman was the strongest metahuman of our age, as vile as he was—he was an ant, a stinger to be pulled out and an insect to be crushed. You are a **flea** , barely worthy of my notice!_”   
  
“ ** _Impossible_** _!_ ” Fafnir roared, slashing out, his claws sending up sparks as they scraped against Kara’s nigh-impenetrable skin, leaving angry red welts. “ _The Red Star killed **Der Übermensch** , not you!_”   
  
“ _I **am**  the Red Star,_” Kara snarled in Russian, and she saw the fear in Fafnir’s blazing eyes as he recognized her delivery and pronunciation—of course, she’d said it on the radio and in speeches enough for those long years of the war. The Kryptonian didn’t give the Nazi a chance to respond; she merely pulled back a fist and punched Fafnir straight down, aiming him for the warehouse. Fafnir howled with rage, but it was cut off as Kara dove faster than a speeding bullet, powering into the metal dragon’s midsection and crushing him against the warehouse floor so hard the concrete shattered and buckled around the impact.   
  
Kara stood, her peripheral vision registering Eris hitting one of the neo-Nazi goons in the face with her baseball bat. The Titan’s Blood saved the man’s skull; he spun partway around from the impact just in time to meet Athene’s fist coming the other way, sending him flying off of his feet. It seemed like the thugs and Black Hand terrorists were both confused and disoriented, probably taken by surprise at Fafnir burning half of their number. Good, they’d be more easily dealt with.   
  
Fafnir thrashed out with both legs, and Kara roared with rage as she was thrown off, but she caught herself with practiced ease and powered down again, catching a scratch from Fafnir’s claws that left a red welt across her cheek, but the metal body shrieked as Kara crushed Fafnir into the ground again.   
  
The Kryptonian slammed a knee into Fafnir’s chest, forcing him down, then grabbed his metal skull with both hands. Fafnir let out an inhuman wail as Kara’s invulnerable hands slowly crumpled his metallic jaws.   
  
“ ** _Surrender_** ,” Kara demanded, her German harsh and Ukrainian accent thick from the stress of combat. “ _Or I **will**  kill you_.”   
  
“ _You’re too late_!” Fafnir wailed through Kara’s unbreakable grip. “ _The war is inevitable! Ares will bring your degenerate nations crashing down, and the pure **Volk**  will rise through the fires of Ragnarok!_” Something  _clicked_  in his midsection, and the joints of Fafnir’s armor began to glow with green fire as a sudden whining sound rapidly rose in pitch. The Nazi grabbed Kara by the throat in a last surge of strength, his metal body creaking under the strain of the Kryptonian’s onslaught. “ _But I will get one last pleasure before I go to my reward_ ,” Fafnir snarled. “ _I will finally be greater than Reinhard Heydrich! I will do what he could not; kill the Red Star!_ ” He wheezed a chuckle through the mangled remains of his face, and Kara’s eyes widened.   
  
“GET BACK!” Kara roared, and she wrapped one mighty arm most of the way around Fafnir’s body. Sawyer took one look at the rising glow and stumbled backwards with a curse, screaming for her men to take cover. Kara saw no more as she rocketed out of the warehouse and accelerated to supersonic speeds, blowing past Mach 1 as the heat began to ignite the air around her once more.   
  
“ _Die, you subhuman bitch,_ ” Fafnir snarled. The whine reached a fever pitch. “ _I go to Valhalla gladly for my race. **HEIL HITLER!**_ ”   
  
Kara flipped in midair, orienting herself under Fafnir, and kicked him in the chest with all of her strength, his claws leaving angry scratches on her neck. For a brief half-second Fafnir’s metal dragon-body, mangled and broken, glowed as bright as the sun, rapidly disappearing into the sky…and then it erupted into a vast explosion, the blast knocking Kara from the sky to crash through the warehouse roof again. She landed through a box of guns—probably more Soviet-made super-killers. The high-powered ammunition exploded from the impact and the fire still licking over her charred clothes, and she caught air again, landing with a groan on the concrete floor.   
  
“ _Чорт забирай, це боляче_ ,” Kara moaned as she rolled to her feet. “Captain Sawyer! Flamebird! Athene! Are you intact?”   
  
A body landed three feet in front of her. The young man, one of the Black Hand terrorists, tried to rise, groaned, and slumped. Kara looked up to see Athene, grin visible beneath her helmet, step on the terrorist’s back.   
  
“I felt the blast. Fafnir?”   
  
“Dead.” Kara stood with a groan, and Athene’s eyes went wide. “Killed himself, suicide explosion.” She frowned at the other woman’s expression. “What?”   
  
“Um, boobs?”   
  
Kara looked down. The explosion had been too much for her costume, and it had been reduced to a charred wreck that failed to cover her ample chest or her rippling abdomen. “ _Лайно_. I’m sorry.” She reached down and took off the groaning terrorist’s jacket, tying her charred cape into a makeshift bra and trying to cover as much of her lower body as possible with the jacket. “The others?”   
  
“Some of them surrendered, Captain Sawyer’s dealing with them.”   
  
“Good. We aren’t done. We need to find any computers they have, before they can wipe anything.”   
  
“On it. Eris! Come on, Power Woman thinks they have computers!”   
  
Maggie and Lucy jogged up, the MPD officers busy cuffing the terrorists near the hole Kara had blown in the wall. The policewoman eyed Kara up and down with an appreciative grunt. “So, Lucy, you’re still single, right?”   
  
“ _Mags!_ ”   
  
“I’m not interested,” Kara replied with a grin. “Your sense of timing is magnificent, though.”   
  
Maggie bowed. “Thank you. The super?”   
  
“Dead.” Kara ran a hand through her hair. “He was damn tough. I haven’t felt pain in decades, and forgot how much it…well,  _hurts_.” She chuckled ruefully, then lifted off of the ground. “We should follow Athene and Eris. Captain Sawyer, your men have the prisoners in hand?”   
  
“Yep,” Maggie replied. She cocked her gun, a nine-millimeter loaded with Teflon-coated super-killer rounds. “We’ll need to have you come down to the precinct for questioning, standard procedure, but since there are so many witnesses there’s no chance the DA will press charges over Fafnir. You want to lead?”   
  
“It would be most practical.”   
  
Athene and Eris, as it turned out, did not need the help. “We’ve got a monitor, security cameras, outdated-looking tower,” Athene reported. The terrorists’ planning room looked surprisingly… _normal_ , a desk with a computer, a table, and some chairs, a few maps rolled up on the table.   
  
“Can you hack it?” Maggie asked, holstering her gun. Kara landed gently and stood out of the doorway.   
  
“Working on it.”   
  
“Good, use regular tech if you can. My body cam’s still working so we have footage.”   
  
“Alright…”   
  
“I’ve got inventory lists,” Lucy reported. “In Arabic. Looks like they were tracking their use of the Titan’s Blood—al-Saud blew through half their stock. Here’s an empty case, thrown aside—I think we interrupted a buy.”   
  
“Or a takeover,” Maggie muttered. “Without their leader, these guys were just indoctrinated kids. The skinheads were with the robot guy, he was talking about a “thousand-year Reich”, that sounds like a Nazi to me.”   
  
“He was alive in the Great Patriotic War,” Kara admitted. “A contemporary of the Superman and m—uh, the Red Star.”   
  
“Not a robot?”   
  
Kara shook her head. “No. His body was hard enough to scratch my skin. That means advanced technology, specifically materials science on the level of Athene’s shield and lasso. That is above anything that Humanity currently has available.”   
  
“Ares again,” Athene surmised. “Giving someone a new body’s a lot, but if he were useful…”   
  
“He mentioned being in a perceived competition with Reinhard Heydrich,” Kara noted. “That means either a Gestapo man or a scientist with a competing metahuman project. We know they had at least one, the one that created Captain Freedom. A scientist seems more likely to me—perhaps he helped formulate the Titan’s Blood?”   
  
“Either way, I ain’t sheddin’ a tear,” Harley snorted.   
  
“Sawyer!” someone shouted from outside. Lockwood had shucked his SWAT helmet and holstered his gun, and looked only a little the worse for wear. “We’ve got a bus on the way, that crazy Nazi dragon burned some of his men pretty badly when he was trying to take down…uh, wow.”   
  
“I apologize,” Kara said with a blush. “My suit was apparently not  _completely_  fireproof.”   
  
“Alright then.” The FBI agent looked away with practiced professionalism, then slapped Disher over the back of the head as the younger agent kept staring. “We’ve got ‘em all either dead, in cuffs, or too injured to move thanks to that Nazi. What do we have in here?”   
  
“Inventory lists for the Titan’s blood,” Lucy said. “This mentions a supplier, ‘the infidel’, and another, ‘the dragon’—probably the one Kara just took down.”   
  
“We’ve got surveillance cams!” Athene announced. Maggie maneuvered around the desk so her body cam could get it. “Here’s two files marked with something in Arabic.”   
  
“تأمين,” Lucy read. “Insurance. That looks promising.”   
  
Athene opened the folder, revealing two video files. “This one has audio.”   
  
“Put it on,” Maggie ordered.   
  
Kara frowned. “That’s al-Saud. They have a security camera watching their leader?”   
  
“Probably for safety and so they know who to kill if a metahuman or normal assassin takes him out,” Maggie mused. “Hang on, who’s  _that_?”   
  
Two more figures entered the room, the door shutting behind them. Both were well-dressed, one with a professional haircut and the other with an unkempt grey mop.   
  
“ _Welcome, disgusting infidel_.” Al-Saud offered a hand.   
  
“ _Welcome to America, you godless terrorist bastard_ ,” Messy Hair replied, accepting and shaking the hand.   
  
Al-Saud grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes. “ _Strong words. Have some tea_.” Messy Hair accepted; Professional Hair just sat, and al-Saud raised an eyebrow.   
  
Messy Hair elbowed the other American. “ _Accept the tea, Hank, you gotta show some respect_.”   
  
“ _We’re only working with these ragheads for convenience, why should we_ …” Kara’s eyes widened.   
  
“Is that  _Hank Henshaw_?” Maggie asked in shock. Lockwood hissed a shush, eyes narrowed on the video.   
  
“ _Because this way, we get the attack we want at the time we want, if you don’t show some respect they’ll set their own schedule_.” Messy Hair explained it like he was talking to an infant. Henshaw nodded, at first awkwardly, then more sure.   
  
“ _Ok, yeah, I knew that_.” He took the tea he was offered and noisily slurped it down.   
  
“ _So_ ,” al-Saud said, turning back to Messy Hair. “ _Our mutual friend informed me that you would have a delivery_?”   
  
“ _That would be correct_ ,” Messy Hair nodded. “ _Here’s how it’s gonna work. We give you the chemicals, you use them to take some hostages, real flashy shit, including the mayor, then kill them after leading the cops on for a few hours with negotiations. Get those libtard sissy cucks out of our hair, and you get to kill some infidels. Got it_?”   
  
“Pause it,” Lockwood snarled. “Fast-forward to when they leave.” Athene complied. “Stop!” Maggie said it just as Lockwood did, and the FBI agent and the cop shared a twist of a grin.   
  
“Back about…two seconds?” Lockwood suggested.   
  
“Two point five,” Maggie countered.   
  
“I’ll split the difference.” Athene rolled the recording back…  
  
“Stop!” This time Kara added her voice to the chorus. The faces on the screen were clear.   
  
“Holy  _shit_ ,” Lucy cursed. “I had  _suspicions_  that he was linked to neo-Nazis, but jihadis too?”   
  
“Disher, get me a clean jump drive. I want these videos intact, we’re nailing this bastard for aiding the enemy and treason.” Lockwood grinned, though it was really more baring his teeth. “Sawyer, you and your super friends are a pleasure to work with as always.”   
  
“Likewise, Ben, likewise,” the policewoman chuckled. On the screen, two faces were unmistakable as they turned to leave the office.   
  
Hank Henshaw, and his campaign manager Sean Bentley.   
  
***  
  
 _Henshaw Tower, Metropolis. 8:00 PM, July 4th, 2015_.   
  
“God  _damn_  it!” Sean Bentley threw his tie aside in a wadded-up ball and kicked Hank Henshaw’s gold-plated armchair in rage. “I  _knew_  that fucking warehouse wasn’t secure. Fucking ragheads couldn’t even kill a goddamn super right!”   
  
“What’s going on?” Hank asked from his gold-plated bed, eating a $3,000 meal containing food imported from six countries off of a gold tray with pearl-inlaid utensils on top of gold-threaded sheets. The whole apartment, to be fair, was a veritable temple to opulence, with every vaguely plausible surface coated in gilt and expensive fabric, a spectacle somewhat belied by the BiteBark TV evening news blaring from the gigantic flatscreen embedded in the wall.   
  
“The goddamn stinking ragheads’ warehouse got raided,” Sean spat, grabbing the remote from Hank’s bedside table and muting the TV. “Cops and FBI were swarming the place, and there as a big-ass hole in the wall. I tried to contact Fafnir, the guy who hooked me up with the Blood—no dice. His little goon on phone duty said he’s fucking  _bought it_ , apparently that asshole tried to take on Power Woman and she took him out.”   
  
“Shit.” Hank went pale, the fork slipping from his fingers. “Do we cut and run? Are they on to us?”   
  
“The hell if I know! The FBI was there, and I’ve got no goddamn clue how many of my lackeys made it out of the fight alive.  _FUCK_!” He kicked the wall, leaving a dent in the gold wallpaper. “I’m making arrangements, Hank, but I gotta tell you, if we just cut and run  _now_ we’ll get exposed. We gotta act normal, just for a couple of days. You get to Texas, and whatever you do don’t say a  _goddamn thing_  against that Jew-loving prick in the star-spangled tights, then get to Iowa and get ready for the goddamn straw poll.”   
  
“Wait, I thought we were trying to take Captain Freedom down?”   
  
“Not right now. Later. We’ll have to delay the goddamn schedule, if you piss him off  _now_  the FBI, the NSA, even the goddamn CIA will be tapping your phone before he even knows you said it. And then we’re  _fucked_. Goddamn it, I thought I had until the 6th at  _least_  to wipe the computers.” He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair. “OK. Ok, I can work with this. Use Corben as a distraction…yeah, I can do that. Fuck. OK, here’s the plan, Hank. You get on the campaign trail and court the electorate like normal. I’ll get us tickets to Switzerland to empty the accounts, then we head to Paraguay and live the high life.”   
  
“It’s  _that_  bad?” Hank asked. The tycoon looked decidedly unhappy at the prospect of losing his hedonistic lifestyle.   
  
“Hank, I’m working with a fucking Greek war god to spread illegal metahuman drugs to terrorists so they can stage false-flag attacks on US soil for us. If the FBI gets even a goddamn  _whiff_  of that shit, if they have any reason at  _all_  to believe that Fafnir wasn’t a solo actor who hired the sand monkeys as disposable muscle, we are  _screwed_. I’m talking high treason, aiding the enemy,  _serious_  shit.”   
  
Hank scoffed. “I’m  _rich_ , Sean. I’m so rich, my  _kids_  are rich, even my goddamn  _exes_  are rich and I screwed both of the dumb bitches over in divorce court. I’ve got the best goddamn lawyers in the country.”   
  
“The best lawyers on the fucking  _planet_  won’t help you when you’re up for high treason,” Sean snapped. “Court of public opinion will  _fuck_  us, and all because goddamn Fafnir got his ass killed and those stupid sand n*****s couldn’t keep their base a secret from a bimbo in a cape. I  _knew_  we should’ve stuck with proper American white men. Now, I  _can_  handle this, Hank, trust me, but I need you to show some fucking discipline on the campaign trail for once, alright?”   
  
“Yeah, sure, whatever, my fans love me.” Hank took another bite out of his $1,500 steak to hide his nerves. “I’ve got a place in Paraguay, but it’s not really nice.”  _Not really nice_  in this case being 6 bedrooms, 5 baths, a hot tub, pool, cabana bar, 8 flatscreens, gym with 6 separate machines that Hank had never used (including a pricey Bowflex and a $5,000 treadmill that Hank’s third wife had used all of two times while trying a fad diet over Hank’s last trip down to Paraguay), staff of 20, and 10,000 square feet of floor space.   
  
“I know. OK, so here’s the plan. We send in Corben on the 6th. That gives me time to prep our exit, scrub the hard drives, go from there. Until the 7th we run the campaign like normal. If Corben succeeds then we cut off the head and the FBI’ll have lost their main whistleblowers on us, so we can keep going but I know a guy who can get us tickets to Switzerland fast, and from there Paraguay’s just a flight, just in case they find us out. If Corben fucks it up, too, then I have a guy watching Fed chatter, I can get us both out of the country on the 7th if need be. It’s  _critical_  to present a façade of normality, if they start to  _suspect_  us things go to Hell in a handbasket.”   
  
“What if the FBI goes public?” Hank asked in concern.   
  
“FBI doesn’t go public unless they’re ready to indict. Uh, sir.” The campaign manager glanced at the TV, where a woman with heavily bleached-blonde hair was ranting over the caption  _SJWs: Literally Nazis?_ , and cursed under his breath. “Goddamn it, I thought I fired that little bitch, we’re supposed to be  _rehabbing_  Hitler’s image, not using him to smear the libtards. OK, Hank. You’ll get out of the country safely, I promise you that. I’ll call Corben and tell him there’s been a change of plans. You get some goddamn sleep and then get ready for Texas tomorrow—day after tomorrow, Power Whore and that ‘metahuman liaison’ should be dead and we’ll be ready to run. Got it?”   
  
Hank didn’t get it, he’d rather just cut and run now, but he wasn’t going to look stupid in front of one of his servants—uh,  _employees_. “Yeah. I got it. Totally got it, I’m the best at getting it there is.”   
  
Bentley eyed Hank and the masticated mouthful of steak that his words revealed with a touch of disgust, but nodded. “Good. Stay calm. Uh, sir. I’ll get us out of this.”   
\-------------------------

_Private room, Bombshells! Ladies’ Club. Metropolis, USA. 9:30 PM July 4th, 2015._  
  
“…so then Mr. “The Fixer” says, ‘I’m a gentle soul, really! I’m only doing what I have to do to save America!’” Maggie Sawyer’s voice descended into a dreadful parody of a deep-voiced man. “That was when I got my arm loose and elbowed him in the face.” The women were celebrating their victory at Bombshells for security; Power Woman's--or Karen’s, as she'd introduced herself--private identity meant that loud gatherings involving a high-ranking police officer, be they in Karen’s apartment or Maggie’s, were impractical, and Kate and Harley’s RV was out because it definitely hadn’t been made for a 2-meter superwoman built like Dwayne Johnson’s distaff clone, and nobody wanted to prevent Karen from stretching out her legs at a cooldown party.  
  
“HA!” a somewhat drunk Harley Quinn shouted at Maggie’s story. “Betcha he didn’t get up from  _that_!”  
  
“He did! He was a racist little bastard, but he had a strong jaw, to be fair. Then he pulled out this ridiculous knife, here, I’ve got a picture on my phone.” She showed the other women the screen, and Harley dissolved into laughter.  
  
“That’s the dumbest knife I’ve ever seen,” Kate chuckled. She’d changed into blue jeans and a Nightwish T-shirt, casual clothes for a night on the town with the other women.   
  
“I know, right?” Flamebird—or rather, Lucy, who Kate was pretty sure she’d seen before, if not in person—chipped in with a chuckle. “It was a blunt ornamental prop made by a cheap-ass “fantasy weapons” fly-by-night, we tried it out later and it bent like a rubber spoon. Plus with all those prongs and oversized serrations, the damn thing was near impossible to use.”  
  
“Yeah, so then Luce drops down, but I wave her off, ‘cause I’ve got this motherfucker bang to rights. I say, ‘So attacking exchange students and mothers in the park is defending America now, is it?’, and I busted his nose, haymaker to the face.  _That_  one he didn’t get up from. The jury rejected his insanity defense, he’s set to serve a grand total of 150 years, if he doesn’t get parole, for assault, aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder, and having weapons without a permit. Idiot had goddamn  _bandoliers_  of bullets and  _two_  unlicensed handguns.”  
  
“Wow.” Kate shook her head. “And I thought Baroness Blitzkrieg was nuts.”  
  
“Which reminds me, I wanted to compliment you on your technique,” Maggie replied. “Good, defensive tactics.”  
  
“I  _was_  a soldier.”  
  
“Oh?” Lucy asked, putting down her beer. “So was I. Major Lucy Lane, US Marine Corps, retired. Served in Iraq under Mattis and Helland. First saw combat as a First Lieutenant, got promoted to Captain in ’06, then they bumped me up to Major in ’09.”  
  
“Fast progression, especially Captain to Major.”  _That_  was it. The President’s little sister. “I’d make a joke about your sister helping you out, but that was three years before she got elected.”  
  
Lucy grimaced. “My dad’s a three-star. I think the old bastard pulled strings. Just like he did five years ago after I got drummed out of the Corps, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. Thank god Lois ended that crap.”  
  
“So Marine to vigilantism?” Karen asked. “An odd transition.”  
  
Lucy shrugged and took a long swig of her beer. “I tried being a cop. Lasted a year before my boss’s sexist crap got to be too much, so I reported him for sexual harassment, but he framed me for misconduct and I got fired. So I got mad. I did what I swore I wouldn’t do, and asked Lois for help. She hooked me up with Jimmy, said that she understood how I wanted to help. Jimmy and I had a talk. I got a costume from his supplier and went out for my first patrol a month later.” She shook her head.  
  
“Then she met me in this joint,” Maggie explained. “We got to talking, then she came up to me at work with Olsen and wanted to talk. It’s gone well ever since. I just don’t say that I know she’s a vigilante in public. Really Cleveland Comet sort of thing.” The Cleveland Comet was one of the first vigilantes from the ‘70s and ‘80s to get something approaching sanction from the local police force, an African-American man with enhanced strength and durability who’d retired in the early 2000s to a peaceful life of Social Security checks and grandchild visits. The concept of the sanctioned vigilante had evolved from his policy of working with the police whenever possible and avoiding breaking the law when he could avoid it in his quest to keep his area’s streets clean. After the first couple of years the Cleveland PD had effectively decided to ignore the masked man delivering them unconscious criminals, despite officially considering him an outlaw. The Canadians had just added paperwork, and the concept spread from there.  
  
“You didn’t go for official sanction?” Karen asked. Lucy shrugged.  
  
“I’m on file but not acknowledged, it’s more of a Cleveland Comet deal like Maggie said. I didn’t want the hassle of the public eye and it would’ve been bad for Lois’s career. Plus, the downside of sanction is that your data is out there, linked to your hero identity, so if the cops lose your file you’re in deep shit. Keeping it informal like this is protection.”  
  
“So that’s why you swept for bugs,” Kate realized.  
  
“Exactly. It’s just a ladies’ club, but you can’t be too careful.”  
  
Maggie’s phone rang. “Hang on. Alex? Hey, baby, how’s it going? Nah, I’m fine, I’m out with Power Woman and those nice girls from Jump City, we’re getting drunk, Power Woman’s designated sober. What? Really? That’s great! OK, one sec, gonna put you on speaker.” The cop answered Kate’s questioning look with a grin. “My girlfriend came through. She’s got the preliminary analysis done.”  
  
“ _And I want to know where the_ hell _you got this stuff, Mags_ ,” the woman on the phone asked. “ _We don’t even have_ names _for half of the chemicals in here. I synthesized a catalyst based on the stuff we DO know about it that should accelerate its natural degradation, making it wear out faster when injected—it’ll depend on how long before injection you contaminate it, at most they’ll have sixty seconds of powers before burnout. More reliable than destroying the containers outright, plus this way you can run a sting or sabotage it at the source._ ”  
  
“You ran tests?” Maggie sounded worried.  
  
“ _Vasquez, Tony Ferretti from Maintenance, and I took it with the catalyst. It’s a small sample size but we had good results. Don’t worry, Mags, I used rats first and had med teams on standby the whole time. I’m not giving up on you_ that _easily_.”  
  
Harley let out an  _aww_ , and Karen leaned back with a faint smile. Maggie grinned. “I love you and I trust you, babe. But be safe, OK?”  
  
“ _Always, Mags. The catalyst is on its way, it should arrive tomorrow. See you next weekend at Bellini’s, OK?_ ”  
  
“I’ll wear my suit. Love you, honey.”  
  
“ _I love you too, sweetheart. Bye!_ ”  
  
“So,” Harley began, brow furrowed as Maggie hung up. “Are we  _all_  gay in here?”  
  
“My sexuality is…unusual. Lucy and Captain Sawyer can guess why,” Karen said. “I do not like to talk about it.” Kate raised an eyebrow and Harley scoffed. “Suffice it to say that I am not comfortable with the idea of being with a Human.”  
  
“I dated guys once or twice as a kid to make my dad happy, they’re OK but ladies are better in every way,” Lucy admitted in between swigs of beer. “Jimmy was my beard once that one time we went undercover, but neither of us is interested in the other. That’s it really.”  
  
Harley leaned over and whispered in Kate’s ear. Kate shook her head. “No. Just no.”  
  
“C’ _mon_ , it’d be hilarious!”  
  
“I can hear you, you know,” Karen pointed out. She glanced over to the door, and sighed. “Alright, since the room is clear, and you deserve to know, I will tell you the whole truth. I am an alien.”  
  
Harley and Kate gaped. “Huh?” Harley managed.  
  
“Kryptonian, to be specific.” She took a swig of her bottle of pricey German stout—Lucy had offered to pay, and Kareh had splurged—then let out a sharp breath. Ice crystals formed around her hand and the mouth of the bottle. “We are from a distant world, orbiting the red sun of Rao. Unlike my aunt and my paternal grandmother, I prefer Kryptonians only.”  
  
“What, d’you have  _tentacles_  down there, Pew?”  
  
Karen chuckled at that, then took another drink. “No, my external genitalia are similar to a Human female’s. Internally I have four ovaries rather than two, and what in humans is a birth canal is more of an ovipositor—or something like one, there is no real Terran equivalent. Kryptonian women in the pre-civilization period gave birth in a crouch, there isn’t much of a cervix and the birth canal-equivalent everts itself to slow down the infant’s passage once it gets past the hips so that it isn’t injured in the drop. It wouldn’t be noticeable during normal intercourse.”  
  
“How do you…”  
  
“I  _was_  old enough for basic sexual education before Krypton died. It has been many, many years, to be fair, but I do remember the essentials, including the, ah,  _educational videos_.” There was a pronounced wince at that. “My, ah, creche instructor was very  _firm_  about the importance of not taking any risk when it came to the remote potential for accidental conception. The Science Guild  _said_  that the Codex had removed that possibility, but you know, there  _were_  mistakes, like my aunt, and Lara Lor-Van  _did_  conceive the primitive way with Uncle Jor-El.”  
  
The alien shook her head with a grimace. “Ugh. On the previous topic, the  _tlharan_  does not evert except during birth. As for how I can compare the two, I had the basics of Human sexuality from my Comrades in the old regiment. We were a group of young women at war, it was inevitable.” Karen took a drink. “Anyway. As for other differences from humans…Up top, I have thicker ribs, and one fewer pair of those, I have two organs that fulfill Human pancreatic functions rather than the one, my lungs have three lobes each, and my liver-equivalent is symmetrical. More importantly in the romantic department, my species also secrete subtle pheromones which most other species lack; essentially, Humans smell too bland to arouse me. Some of my kind like aliens anyway, I don’t. No offense.”  
  
Harley absorbed that information. “Huh. So you’re sayin’ I  _smell_  funny to you?”  
  
“Not so much  _funny_  as bland and uninteresting. No offense, you are quite beautiful physically, and quite the sweetheart in your own way; I can see why your lover is so infatuated with you, despite your…peculiar sense of humor. Again, no offense.”  
  
“Well, close enough,” Harley shrugged. “We need a name.”  
  
“What for?” Karen asked in confusion.  
  
“You know, a team name? Like the Super-Patriots, the Defenders of the Commonwealth, the Rising Sun, and the Sons of Dasharatha, all the cool sanctioned and government-backed teams have a name. For when we team up again! We need somethin’ really, really gay, an’ Maggie’ll have to ask her girlfriend if  _she_ wants to join.”  
  
“Hey, I’m not a super,” Maggie demurred.  
  
“Tweety-Pie here’s not a super, just a masked vigilante, an’  _she’s_  on the team,” Harley shot back. “ _Ollie’s_  on the team back in Jump City and  _he’s_  got no powers ‘cept for mysteriously appearing and disappearing. Anyway, we gotta have a team name to be serious. How ‘bout We Love Boobs?”  
  
“No,” Karen replied with finality.  
  
“Agreed,” Lucy spoke up. “From a publicity standpoint and from a standpoint of ‘that wouldn’t be very intimidating’.”  
  
“Aww, you’re no fun,” Harley pouted. “How about the Rainbow Legion?”  
  
“Group Force Fabulous?” Kate offered in a joking tone. “Babe, you gotta keep it simple and serious, and we’ve got time to decide anyway.”  
  
“I like the assumption that we will work together again,” Karen announced. “If you need help in the future, and the Metropolis region is safe…I will assist you.”  
  
“That sounds great,” Kate admitted. “I know if we had you during the Brazen Bull mess he’d have been down in about a second.”  
  
Karen leaned forwards with a frown. “I’m not so certain. The civilian bystanders would have made matters difficult.”  
  
“You took out that ‘Aryan’ kid with one punch after he survived pushing me into a taxi,” Kate noted. “That’s pretty fast.”  
  
“The Titan’s Blood only gives low B-list powers at most, though,” Karen pointed out. “Strength and durability only, whereas I have flight, high-grade durability, superstrength that I would rate above your level—no offense—and energy projection capability, as well as superhuman senses. Even striking to disable, and therefore pulling my punches, he was not a threat to me personally, and he was barely a challenge for you. I landed as he was just getting to his feet, the perfect time to grab, surprise, and neutralize him.” She shook her head. “With the crowd you were dealing with on the Brazen Bull incident—less room to maneuver. I like open areas, I’d probably have gone in trying to halt his progress more than anything, then warn the people back. He had an explosive, too—I saw him go for some kind of signal device before he went for the pro-Israel marchers in the news footage—so he’d have still been able to kill hundreds if I had been there alone.”  
  
The blonde leaned back with a shrug. “Teaming up is simply safer and more effective in general. Look what happened to the second All-American.” All-American 2 had been an aerokinetic woman working for the government-sponsored Super-Patriots team. On December 23rd, 2000, she’d been killed by an Al Qaeda terrorist while taking down a hijacked airplane headed for the Lady Liberty statue in Metropolis Bay, while her teammates working together in DC to stop the jet headed for the White House had survived.  
  
“You think someone could  _kill_  you of all people?”  
  
“The Superman had my powers and he died from a snapped neck easily enough. On my homeworld, Krypton, the people had no powers—if the conditions of our world that rendered us so powerless could be duplicated here, or the aspect of Earth that gives me my powers could be blocked from me, I would be rendered as fragile as any ordinary Human.” Another shrug. “Your powers are not as strong as mine, perhaps, but you have no weakness as I do. In a fight with a hypothetical prepared foe with the ability to neutralize my powers, you would be by far the superior military asset.”  
  
“Wait.” Kate leaned forwards. “So if you’re from this other planet, Krypton—and you have these powers, which to me sound a lot like the ones the Superman and that Soviet superwoman had…”  
  
“Reinhard Heydrich was Human,” Karen replied. “He made himself into  _Der Übermensch_. You do not want to know how.”  
  
“And you do?”  
  
Karen set down her beer. Her eyes were dark, old and haunted. “Unfortunately. You can get the details from Captain Sawyer, later, if she trusts you enough. I am done with this discussion.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Harley said, sounding unexpectedly serious. She looked at Karen, smiling a little. “If ya don’t mind me saying one more thing?”  
  
Karen blinked. “Please.”  
  
“Well…my grandpa wasn’t originally from America. He came over from Europe. An’…he had a story, a story he used to tell me about…” She blinked. “Him an’ his brother Saul – he moved to Israel, but grandpa preferred America – they were teenagers in Dachau. I won’t go into the whole story - they were all was left of their family – but I always remembered him tellin’ me about the day the Lord sent an angel to lead ‘em to freedom. An’ how sad he was he never got to tell the angel thank you. So…” She breathed in and out heavily. “Otto and Saul Tauber thanked you for what you did for ‘em, and wanted you to know that they did just fine with the second chance at life you gave ‘em.”  
  
Kate looked at Karen. The alien’s blue eyes looked  _old_  suddenly, far older than a woman who looked like Karen had any right to be, alien or not. “I am glad for them,” Karen managed. Something in Russian slipped from her mouth. “I remember that day. Near the end, it was. Stalin was angry, but I knew what Hitler and his dogs were doing at that point. I insisted that we take the camp immediately, and not in two weeks.” She picked up her beer and drained it in one gulp. “They could barely walk, let alone smile, when we freed them, the victims I mean. I thought that I terrified them, with how I rent the  _Kommandant_  in two and burned his lieutenants to ash.”  
  
Harley lay a comforting hand on the bigger super’s shoulder. “You saved a lot of people from a death camp, Pew. I don’t think grandpa  _could_  be scared of you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Karen hiccupped, tears threatening to spill down her face as she wrapped one massive arm around the human and hugged her close. “I would have liked to have met your grandfather. To wish him well.”  
  
“I think he knew you would’ve,” the smaller woman replied, patting Karen on the shoulder. Karen gave her one last squeeze and pulled back. In a flash, Harley was back to her normal self. “Now. Who wants Jagerbombs?”  
  
***  
  
The evening had got onto a quieter phase. Lucy had gone to get another round, Maggie was in the bathroom, and Harley was facedown on their table. Kate chuckled. “Give her another five minutes and she’ll be up again and ready to drink more.”  
  
From across the table, Karen laughed in turn, a rich alto befitting her burly form. “She does not do anything by halves, does she?”  
  
“No. That’s one of the things that drew me to her. Finding her...it made coming back to the world worth it. On a personal level – I mean, fighting to help others was worthwhile, but…”  
  
“She makes you love life rather than simply live.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kate admitted. “Before I met her…yeah. Harley’s the best break I’ve ever gotten.”  
  
“I can see. And I envy you.” Karen paused, a frown twisting her brow as she began to run a finger across her glass. “Kate…please do not take this the wrong way… You’re a good person. I can see that much. But…I have to admit to misgivings about your…ah…”  
  
“The Amazons?” As Karen nodded, Kate sighed. “I don’t blame you, in many ways. They’re a glorious culture, don’t get me wrong – they’ve got tech that beats anything we have hollow, they take care of each other in a way that normal humans don’t, they have a love of knowledge and science…and hell, they’re a tropical island inhabited exclusively by women who love other women, what’s not to like on that front? But in other ways…”  
  
“They’re sexist, from what you’ve told me.” Karen took a drink. “Sexist, ruled by an absolute monarch, severely isolationist, none of which are the markers of a healthy society. I would be surprised if they did not suffer from unrest.”  
  
Kate took a breath. Normally, she wouldn’t talk about this, but after…how many was it again? It seemed OK. “Between you and me?” she said. As Karen nodded, Kate continued. “In many ways, they aren’t. And here’s why.” She paused, breathing in again. “Long ago, there used to be Amazon communities across most of the then-known world. Greece, Syria, Libya… Hippolyta was just one queen among many. And, and, they had OK relations with ‘normal’ humans. They didn’t exactly like men that much, but they let them trade in their cities, they went and traded in normal human cities.” A smirk crossed her face. “And they traded for the next generation – let’s just say they figured out how turkey basters worked long before our society did, and paid any participating men handsomely.” She and Karen both laughed, but Kate stopped smiling as she continued. “Anyway, that all came to a screeching halt at one point. When exactly, I’m not sure, but…anyway, what came to be known as ‘Man’s World’ turned against the Amazons. And we’re not just talking hostility, we’re talking ethnic cleansing, we’re talking genocide…and slavery. In all its forms.”  
  
“Oh.” Karen’s face set. “ _Oh_. Holodomor or Holocaust?” She cocked her head. “No. Both, and the Americans in Colombia writ large. Terrible indeed.”  
  
“Exactly. Most Amazon communities were wiped out, only Hippolyta managed to rally and free enough to make a new start. They say that she slew Hercules himself to lead her people to freedom, though I never dared to ask her the specifics.”  
  
“Hercules?” Karen considered. “Hmmm…possible that the myth began thanks to some kind of proto-metahuman…”  
  
“That’s what I think too. But anyway, Hippolyta led the Amazons to freedom, she took them to Paradise Island and decided that that was it. They’d build a new world free from men.”  
  
“Understandable, but that was millennia ago. Surely they can’t continue to hold an entire  _gender_  responsible…”  
  
“That’s the thing. Since they came to Paradise Island, the Amazons became immortal. That’s not ancient history to them. It’s not what their ancestors had to live through. Over half the Amazons on the island personally lived through that horror.”  
  
Karen winced at that, and muttered something in what sounded like Russian. “I can imagine how terrible that must have been, unfortunately,” she said at last. “A thousand years, more—living through it all with those memories. And I have barely had half a century…ah, my apologies, I am rambling. Would it be…excuse me, would it be fair to say that theirs is a society with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?”  
  
Kate filed the  _half a century_  comment away for later. She had  _suspicions_  about the woman who claimed her name was Karen Starr, suspicions that she wasn’t comfortable voicing to the alien demigod who’d so brutally,  _contemptuously_  crushed that super called Fafnir’s metal body into a twisted ruin—suspicions that Harley’s earlier comments and “Karen’s” response had confirmed. “You could say that. Oh, it doesn’t utterly consume them – they live happy day-to-day lives, they create art and technological marvels and they party damn hard. The things I could tell you about the Hunter’s Moon Festival… But it does affect their worldview. The entire reason they developed a technological society like they did was because they’re constantly preparing for a day when Man’s World will come to take their last refuge from them, like their sisters in Libya and Greece were taken. And, unfortunately, Man’s World didn’t exactly help that perception at times. A few Vikings seeking Vinland blundered onto the island; Spanish conquistadors looking for El Dorado took a couple of wrong turns…and then there was the one time men actually deliberately tried something.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Just after America joined the War. Italian researchers found information dating from Roman times on rumours of the last Amazon stronghold. They put that together with ships going missing, and with a couple of anomalous signals received from the rough area where Paradise Island is. Some of the smarter people in the German and Italian High Commands realised that America joining the war could be the beginning of the end, unless the Axis got some kind of major boost. Throw in Himmler’s love of the occult, and they managed to get an expedition together: a couple of experimental U-Boats, some crack SS and Alpini soldiers…”  
  
“How far did they get?” Karen asked with a grim smile. “SS never did know when to surrender, fanatical bastards.”  
  
“Never even made it off the beaches. The Amazons still have one of the U-Boats in the Temple of Artemis.” Kate shivered at the memory of the recording of the battle that she’d seen. It had lasted exactly thirty seconds.  
  
“Well, that explains what happened to the 2nd SS- _Sturmtruppen_  division  _Arische Macht_.” Her lips showed a hint of teeth. “I cannot say that I miss them. So…a society of liberated slaves, most of whom remember their enslavement, who’ve been the subject of what seems like unremitting hostility from male enemies…” Karen nodded. “I can see why they are as you describe. Especially if any died in those attacks. An immortal race with no children would feel any deaths keenly. And living with their memories, unchanging, for thousands of years…”  
  
“Yep. It’s only in the last fifteen years that they’ve been able to begin reproducing again. With technology, of course – they figured out how to synthesise sperm, and something about Amazons’ biology means that children are always women. Point is, though, until then – and even now – every life is precious, and the loss of even one Amazon is a tragedy.” Kate felt her eyes burn a little. “And…and some places, you can feel this immense sense of sadness, awareness for everything they’ve lost. There’s one part of the city, the Road of the Last Queens. It’s a road, lined with statues of every Amazon queen who died when men turned against them, and each statue has the circumstances of their deaths described exactly as it happened. Just going there, seeing these statues of these beautiful, strong women, and reading how they died…” She blinked back tears. “I’m not even one of them, not really, and I cried like a baby.”  
  
Karen frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think, then, that they want revenge? To try to conquer Man’s World as they call it?”  
  
“No. The closest they come to it is a general belief that Man’s World will fall apart on its own eventually. When it’s well and truly fallen, they figure that they’ll inherit the Earth and rescue any survivors. But they’ve no desire to go and try to club the world into submission, not when they’re immortal and they can afford to wait. Plus, they know they don’t have the numbers, even with their technology. No, they wouldn’t try to conquer Man’s World. But they  _will_  defend Themyscira, with everything they have.” She leant forward. “And lemme tell you something. Trying to conquer Themyscira would be like trying to conquer the Sun. But they still fear that Man’s World’s gonna try. So they rely on me – and probably others – to let them know if they’re ever in danger of discovery.”  
  
Karen nodded throughout, stroking her chin as she considered. Eventually, she nodded. “I must go there,” she said. “Not immediately, but…soon. I will go.”  
  
Kate blinked. “Huh?”  
  
“It strikes me that the Amazons deserve the chance to broaden their horizons. I imagine that – given your situation at the time – there were things you felt unsafe discussing or telling them. Which is understandable. But I don’t have to worry as much about that, and as you may have guessed, I can be  _blunt_  when necessary.”  
  
“Yeah. I’d kinda noticed. Blunt…but nice with it.”  
  
Karen chuckled. “Thank you. But I think that a degree of bluntness – and another degree of compassion and willingness to listen, something that I admit that I have had to practice to regain – is just what is needed in this case. From both sides.”  
  
Kate was about to say something, but Lucy reappeared with another tray. She nudged Harley, who came back to herself instantly, looking indecently fresh and with only the slightest slur in her voice.  
  
“What? Oh, more drinks!”  
  
“Got us a half-decent lager,” Lucy reported. “Maggie’s about done, I think, so I switched to lighter stuff. Kara, just FYI, James texted me, you have an interview with Channel 4 on the 7th.”  
  
“ _Already_?”  
  
Lucy shrugged. “PR waits for no one. He says try to keep a lid on the communism, and he’s asked our, uh, supplier for a suit that’s a little more flameproof. Should be here in a little over two days. Also, my sister called, and, uh, yeah, you kinda need to talk to her.”  
  
“Your— _oh_. Her. Yes. Because of our actions today?”  
  
“Yeah, because of bagging the terrorists  _and_  that video. Maggie’s Chief is pissed, the Feds want to keep a lid on this as long as possible.”  
  
“Your sister works for the FBI?” Kate asked.  
  
“Ha! No, they work for  _her_. Anyway, Kara—uh, Karen, sorry, this’ll all be going down within a week, so try not to drop off the face of the Earth.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Kara?” Kate asked.  
  
“Another name. I have had three, besides the aliases. I don’t use that one in public.”  
  
“Ah, sorry.”  
  
“No offense taken. Lucy, I can fly down to Washington tonight if that works?”  
  
“Make it 8 tomorrow. Lois has enough on her plate without midnight visits from aliens.”  
  
“Understood.” Karen/Kara/whatever her real name was drained her beer. “We should probably leave soon, then.”  
  
“Agreed,” Kate spoke up. “Last round?”  
  
Lucy nodded. “Works for me. I gotta catch up on sleep anyway.”  
  
***  
  
 _Metropolis PD 25th Precinct, office of Metahuman Relations. 10:00 AM, July 6th, 2015_.  
  
“Hey, Sawyer, mind if I ask a favor?”  
  
Captain Maggie Sawyer looked up to her doorway, where a blonde Junior Detective was leaning on the frame. “Sure, Rollins, what d’you need?”  
  
“You know the DiPalma case?”  
  
“CO serial prison rapist, the one the Chief wants quiet?”  
  
“The same. DA’s about to bring charges, but DiPalma’s got the CO’s union on his side and he’ll bolt as soon as he makes bail, plus we want to get the wife out—she wants out, isn’t useful to the case. Think your new friend could lend a hand?”  
  
“Sure, I can ask. If I know Power Woman she’ll be more than happy. Hey, did you check up on Irons?”  
  
Rollins grimaced. “He’s stable and awake last I checked, we’ve got patrolmen pulling extra shifts to stand guard just in case more of those terrorists want to try their luck. Unofficial, since the Mayor’s more concerned about the DiPalma case.”  
  
“No shit, the way he’s riding the Chief’s ass.” Maggie grimaced. “I’ll get in touch with Power Woman through her publicist. Just keep me posted. She’ll be confidential.”  
  
“Great, thanks, I owe you one.”  
  
Maggie shook her head. “No sweat, Allison, glad to…”  
  
Then the wall exploded.  
  
Maggie’s office was on the second floor of the 25th Precinct building, near the back; the front, windowed wall that faced Garfield Street erupted with a fiery detonation as something hit it like a missile. Desks, chairs, office supplies, and human bodies were thrown away from the blast; Maggie rolled out of her chair and hit the ground instinctively as Rollins ducked behind the office door. The Captain grabbed her phone and hit number 5 on the speed dial—an automatic alarm she’d set up after the City Hall fight with Kara.  
  
Something stepped through the hole. A humanoid shape in a corona of nearly blinding light, it floated through on little jets of flame, a large helmet occluding the head. A junior detective near the stairs pulled out his gun and fired two shots; Maggie couldn’t see what happened, but the figure didn’t flinch, but merely turned and blasted the detective, liquefying his gun instantly and sending him flying backwards with a scream, arm mangled and clothes on fire.  
  
“ _I am Reactron_ ,” the helmeted figure announced, voice warbling from a disguiser of some sort. “ _Where is Captain Margaret Sawyer?_ ”  
  
Rollins’s frantic look met Maggie’s eyes.  _Shit._  This was a hit, from a metahuman merc. And it would take Kara time to get here. Maggie grimaced; Rollins nodded in understanding and pulled out her gun. Maggie shook her head frantically, but Rollins slashed a hand across her throat.  
  
Another explosion as Reactron blew the main doors by the stairs into mangled scrap. The fire alarms went off, the sprinklers drenching Maggie and Rollins instantly; Reactron’s armor hissed and steamed, the fire dulling slightly; the man turned his head upwards and blasted out with his hands again, ripping the fire extinguishers apart.  
  
“ _You will give me Captain Sawyer_ ,” Reactron growled. “ _I know that she works on this floor!_ ”  
  
Rollins gestured frantically as the metahuman approached. Of course. Firepower. Maggie grimaced; she had license to use confiscate firearms of meta-scientific origin, but there was only so much that would impact a high-list metahuman. Hopefully this guy just had the energy attack, but the bulletproof part wasn’t encouraging.  
  
“ _I am a living nuclear reactor_ ,” Reactron snarled. “ _My armor is designed to contain barely a fragment of the full power that I can unleash, but even that is enough to render your puny firearms worthless. You should be proud, Captain Sawyer! Even though you’re not my greatest game today, you’re still worth a bloody high price. Someone rather desperately wants you dead, Captain, and I am happy to oblige_.”  
  
Maggie’s shaking fingers finally managed the code and she pulled the lock back on her safe. She looked up as the  _clunk_  sounded; Reactron’s head turned.  _Shit_! The policewoman grabbed the top two weapons—functional weapons recovered from the attempted bank robbery that Kara had foiled, Evidence hadn’t been able to get prints so they were in her custody, and threw one to Rollins as Reactron advanced.  
  
“ _I see you there, Captain Sawyer!_ ” the super snarled. “ _You should’ve stayed hidden; you’d have lived a few more minutes_.”  
  
He raised a hand, the palm glowing eye-searingly bright with a blaze of heat and light. Maggie and Rollins stood and fired.  
  
Reactron’s shot went wild, carving a three-by-ten-foot furrow in the ceiling, as the energy guns blasted him in the chest, sending the super flying backwards across the main floor and almost out the entry hole. Maggie moved up, but Rollins grabbed a shoulder and shoved her down.  
  
“He wants you, Sawyer, I’ll hold him off!” The blonde turned back to the super…  
  
Her gun erupted in fire. “ _Jolly fine weapons, but ultimately ineffective_.” Rollins swore, stumbling backwards as Reactron advanced; he moved fast, too fast, the corona glowing brighter. Maggie stood and fired off another shot, but Reactron dodged with inhuman speed, then fired off another blast that liquefied the front of the gun and sent Maggie flying back partway through her desk from the explosion. Something in her chest cracked, and Maggie’s vision swam.  
  
Rollins let out a choking scream, and Maggie saw her being lifted in the super’s hand with her slowly-clearing vision. Rollins’s skin was blistering and burning under the intense heat, and Reactron raised his other hand to point at Maggie, glowing with power. “ _A valiant effort, Captain. Now, call for Power Woman or I kill your colleague here first_.”  
  
“No need,” growled a voice with a distinct Slavic accent. Reactron was hauled bodily off of Rollins in a burst of red and white, and Kara  _blurred_  across the room and out the window in a millisecond.  
  
Maggie crawled over to where Rollins lay gasping for breath on the floor. The blonde’s throat was covered in hideous burns, second-degree at least if Maggie was any judge.  
  
“Hold on, Allison!” Maggie groped for her phone, tapping at the cracked surface from where it’d been dropped as Reactron had hit her. Her right and her ribs complained; damn it, she had burns all over her right arm, too, to the point that it looked like she’d had her arm barbecued. Black spots popped up across her vision, and Maggie fought to stay conscious.  _911_. Finally, they answered on the second ring. Must be busy today.  
  
“I need help,” Maggie wheezed over the standard introduction. “Metropolis PD, 25th precinct. Multiple burn victims, one possible fatality. We got attacked by a metahuman, he’s gone now.” Her arm was  _screaming_ , and Maggie got the sneaking suspicion that the nerve endings themselves were fried by the sheer heat of Reactron’s blast.  
  
“ _Alright, ma’am, emergency responders are already on their way. Stay awake, please, just stay with me…_ ”  
  
The black spots were crowding Maggie’s vision now. Oh god. She should’ve called Alex. She should’ve said…

\-------  
Kara Zor-El punched the armored man in the chest, a hammer-blow that had knocked the air out of  _Der Übermensch_  over Warsaw in the last months of the Great Patriotic War. Reactron’s armor was strong indeed; he flew backwards at hundreds of miles per hour, out of control and flailing like a rag doll, but the armor only cracked rather than disintegrating under an impact so powerful that it shattered windows across the street, and his fiery aura still blazed.  
  
 _Have to put out those flames_ , Kara thought to herself. Those could cause a  _lot_  of collateral damage. Water, maybe?  
  
Kara sped towards Reactron at Mach 2, but the other super was lightning-fast. He raised a hand and punched a lance of raw energy straight into Kara’s chest. She felt it wash over her, her suit’s flameproofing holding, but the blast still knocked her back and singed the House of Ze symbol over her breasts. An A-Lister, with near-Kryptonian durability in addition to the energy blasts.  _Wonderful_.  
  
Kara recovered and lunged to meet Reactron’s charge, and the impact sent a shockwave rippling down the street that shattered car windows for a hundred yards.  _Damn_. Kara had spent enough time in construction to be painfully aware of the cost of collateral damage. On the plus side, the raw force of her impact sent her and Reactron flying up and away from Metropolis, slowly levelling into a gentle loop towards the upper West River. Hopefully Kara could keep this fight out of the city, and away from civilians…  
  
Reactron snarled with rage, thrashing against the Kryptonian’s iron grip. “ _You’re an idiot, girl! This suit is the cutting edge of materials science. It can withstand the heat of a thermonuclear bomb!_ ” He blasted Kara’s midsection again and again, and the fireproof suit started to melt under the incredible heat. “ _Give up now and I’ll make it quick_!”  
  
“Go to Hell,” Kara snarled in a slurred mix of Ukrainian and High Kryptonian. She pulled back slightly and punched as hard as she could at Reactron’s face, but the super was lightning-fast, his other hand coming up to blast an impossibly bright nuclear eruption straight into Kara’s face. Her grip weakened, her eyes blinking to get rid of the glare, and Reactron seized his chance.  
  
Kara saw a corona of fire surrounding a rod of blinding light hit her chest, then she was crashing into the ground so hard she left a ten-foot-deep crater and threw chunks of rock dozens of meters into the air. Her torso felt like it’d been sandblasted, red and raw from the burn. She got up, shaking her head—even with invulnerability the raw force of the impact had left her disoriented—and promptly got kicked in the chest, collapsing back to the ground as Reactron loomed over her, glowing like the surface of a star.  
  
 _Son of a…_  Kara put an arm up as Reactron blasted her again, and her sleeve vaporized instantly.  _Damn, now where am I supposed to get a spare costume before next week?_  She lunged up, her right coming around to connect with Reactron’s chest. His armor  _crack_ ed with a sound like a gunshot, and he went flying backwards towards the Catskills.  _For God’s sake, between rent and helping to support casualties—I’m not made of money!_  She was a temp worker in construction, for crying out loud, even 60 years of frugal living, carefully-stockpiled Hero of the Soviet Union pension money, and dubiously legal funds acquired from Nadezhda’s nephew the “expedited cross-border delivery courier” couldn’t support her and a massive clothes budget  _and_  supporting people caught in the crossfire of super-fights. And it would be a cold day in Hell before Kara stopped supporting the incidental casualties of fights she was a part of.  
  
Kara sped after Reactron, powering into the super-mercenary as he rose unsteadily to his feet. One punch pulverized the damaged chestplate, releasing blinding radiance to the open sky as Reactron howled in pain. Kara’s skin felt warm—so it took him at full power to hurt her, that was still more than anyone but  _Der Übermensch_  had managed to do. “You were foolish to do this today,” Kara snarled. “I happen to like Captain Sawyer, and I am  _not_  in a good mood.” She leaped up into the air and punched Reactron back down into a slab of granite, slamming him twenty feet into the solid rock below. The explosion of rock fragments bounced harmlessly from her indestructible skin. “I woke up this morning with my cat shoving his rear into my face, broke my faucet by accident while washing up, and now you come to  _my_  city and attack a police station, endangering my liaison and trying to kill officers in the middle of a block full of innocent civilians? You have earned yourself a one-way ticket to an 8-by-10 cell.” Her fist slammed into Reactron’s helmet, and it shattered, falling away from the metahuman’s head.  
  
Reactron howled with an inhuman crackle undercutting his voice, mouth and eyes blazing with impossible heat, and blasted Kara in the face with both hands. The Kryptonian reared back at the sudden pain, blinded momentarily, and Reactron surged upwards; he wasn’t as strong as Kara but the energy powers made it too close for comfort. Kara reoriented herself fifty feet up, blinking rapidly…  
  
“ _You BITCH_!” Reactron screamed. “ _You fucking wanker, you’ve broke my armor_!” His body hurt to look at now, even to Kara’s eyes, blazing brighter and brighter as he rose to meet the superheroine. Kara slammed into him again, squinting—she had to shut those flames off!  
  
“ _Damn it! Stop hitting me! If I lose control I’ll detonate!_ ” Reactron’s voice was terrified, cutting into higher registers. “ _Get off of me!_ ”  
  
 _Detonate_  sounded bad. “You’re a living nuclear reactor, you said?” Kara asked. “Let’s douse your flames.” Would water work? If his power was somehow nuclear fusion-based she’d irradiate half the state with tritium if she went for the river…  
  
She made the decision in an instant, sucking in a massive breath of air and lunging for the ocean at Mach 2, holding Reactron’s head and neck and praying she didn’t snap his neck. She hit the area above the continental shelf about 4 miles offshore, sending up a titanic blast of steam, and forced herself forwards, shooting for the edge of the shelf. She’d need to get deep, give the tritium room to dissipate if there was any—pray that Reactron could survive the pressure, and it’d be an environmental mess anyway…  
  
His flames were dying. The mercenary’s light had dimmed, the boiling not quite so violent now. Kara pulled his head up to hers and forcibly inflated his lungs with her breath; she could go without air for days thanks to the power of the yellow sun, but Reactron would probably drown if she didn’t help him. And after Fafnir…well, Kara wasn’t going to kill someone who didn’t want to die, and she wasn’t about to let some bastard kill himself to avoid his just reward again, either.  
  
Reactron had closed his eyes, his brows furrowed as the fire licking over his body died, the warmth in Kara’s arms dimming to normal Human levels as she pulled to a halt. The Kryptonian moved slowly towards the surface, blowing another breath into Reactron’s lungs as he lost the first one, but she didn’t break the surface until the fire was gone.  
  
The assassin coughed and spluttered, gasping for breath as Kara kept a gentle but firm hand on the back of his neck. When his breathing had steadied, he half-turned his head to look at her.  
  
“Why the bloody hell’d you do that?” It was a normal voice now, the harsh crackle gone. British accent, maybe Cornwall?  
  
“I need you alive for questioning. And I do not like to kill; nor do I like to see criminals evade justice through suicide.”    
  
Reactron let out a chuckle at that. “Fuck. I shouldn’t’ve gone for that five hundred thousand.” He looked down as far as he could at his lower body, cursed, and spat. “Well, this is a right mess, eh? Don’t suppose you have a line of credit for a quick shopping trip? I keep one open in every town I’m in for more than a month just in case something like this happens on the job, you oughta invest in one if you plan t’be fighting A-listers.”   
  
Kara’s face was stone. “Let me worry about that. Do I need to worry about you igniting again?”  
  
He shook his head. “No. You broke my goddamn armor. It regulates the reaction, without it I lose control too easily. Damn near killed meself the first time.” He sighed with resignation, and cursed quietly. “God damn it. I’ll come quietly. Caught by a fuckin’ fetish model in a cape.”  
  
“I’ll ignore that last comment.  _Once_.” Kara kicked up out of the water, hauling Reactron under her arm. “What is your name and who sent you?”  
  
“I’m a professional, your Highness. I don’t talk. Ever.”  
  
“We will soon see about  _that_.”  
  
***  
  
The press, of course, had a field day.  
  
 ** _POWER-NUDE: METROPOLIS’S NEW HEROINE BARES ALL AFTER SUPER-FIGHT!_**  
  
 ** _TMZ EXCLUSIVE: CLOTHING DAMAGE! POWER WOMAN WALKS STREETS NAKED, IS SHE AN EXHIBITIONIST? ONLY ON TMZ!_**  
  
 ** _PLONC TIMELY UPDATE: TOPLESS HEROINE CARRIES NAKED POLICE-STATION ATTACKER OVER CITY!_**  
  
When Kara got out of the holding cell block at the 1st Precinct two hours later, wearing a hastily-purchased men’s XXL “Surf’s Up!” T-shirt and ill-fitting mesh shorts, Lucy and Jimmy Olsen were waiting for her in the front of the building. The senior publicist was yelling something into his phone—Kara blocked him out of her hearing intentionally out of respect for his privacy. Lucy had her arms crossed, in crisp business-casual slacks and boots, the scars on the side of her face bunched up and crinkled around her grin.   
  
“Hey Karen. You made the headlines.”  
  
“I noticed. Officer Velasquez showed me in an attempt to ease the boredom while the Sergeant ran out to get me some new clothes.”  
  
“Right, well, we knew this would happen eventually, or something like it, but I’m sorry it had to happen like this. James is doing damage control and I’ve already ordered you another new costume, the same new type that should be a little more fireproof than the previous model--the other prototype won't be here until about 10 tonight. Unfortunately you can’t sue the news sites, not even TMZ, since you’re a public figure.”  
  
Kara waved a hand dismissively. “That is alright. The assassin, Reactron, he did not talk. But we have his fingerprints.”  
  
“Yup.” Lucy pulled Kara aside with a grin; the alien leaned down. “You’re going to like this. Maggie’s girlfriend knows Maggie’s subordinates and they sent her the assassin’s name because she pulled out her federal credentials, so she used  _in-flight wi-fi_  to order her minions around—she’s flying up to be with Maggie, and don’t worry, Maggie’s alive, still in surgery but the doctors think she’ll pull through—somehow got the motherlode and sent me the information. His real name’s John Corben, a mercenary who was supposed to be dead after a screwed-up mission to steal a Soviet fusion nuke, one they allegedly made as an attempt at a contingency plan for you going postal, as it happens. And you’ll never guess who wired five hundred thousand into his Swiss bank account—Athene lent a hand and  _god_  I wish I had that thing she uses to hack.”  
  
“Who paid him?”  
  
“ _Sean Bentley_. Hank Henshaw’s campaign manager.” Lucy’s grin was downright devilish. “Athene’s friend in Jump City is having his team do backup work, we’re going to leak the information to the MPD and FBI as soon as it’s confirmed.”  
  
“What does this mean?” Kara noticed paparazzi moving in closer to the building with her super-vision, and ducked a bit closer to the scarred ex-Marine.  
  
“For Henshaw? He’s already screwed because of the jihadi tapes, but he’ll get off of this one. Bentley’s going down, though. He sent an assassin after a police officer and a civilian super, it’ll take a damn good lawyer to get him off.”  
  
“And Captain Sawyer is in surgery?”  
  
“Third-degree burns, fractured ribs, bone chips in her lungs. She’ll make it, but that Reactron guy did a number on her. There’s another cop in with her and one dead, got fried by his energy blasts.”  
  
“ _сука блять_ ,” Kara snarled. “I should have been faster.”  
  
“Even you can’t be paying attention to everything  _all_  of the time,” Lucy pointed out. “Now c’mon, you look like you’ve been barbecued.”  
  
“First-degree burns at worst. I will recover in days at most.”  
  
“I’ve got some burn cream back at my place, c’mon, I’ll lend you some. It can’t hurt.”  
  
Kara sighed, crossing her arms in frustration. “Alright, then. But after that, my first concern is the victims of the battle.”  
  
“I’ll keep you posted. But Agent Lockwood needs to talk to you first, and then the FBI’re probably going to want to nab Henshaw before he can leave the country.”  
  
“And I cannot simply detain him, as that would violate the law,” Kara mused.  
  
“Yep. Don’t worry, though. He’s not weaseling out of this one.”  
  
“Power Woman,” James interjected, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Nice save today.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“The President says good work. Lucy, I told her that you’re safe. Kara—uh, Karen, sorry, the MPD will want you to sign the usual statements and record your side of the fight. If Corben takes a plea deal, which he probably will, you won’t be needed to testify, but if he  _does_  try to take it to court you’ll need to stand as a witness. Thanks to  _Knighthawk v. Orange County_ , you will be allowed to remain in costume, as long as an MPD officer who can be verified as being familiar with you and your file affirms on the stand that you are indeed the person that you claim to be. The FBI wants your help wrapping up the loose ends of this case, and I have six interview requests from national news stations, so you can take your pick there, I know you have the one scheduled for tomorrow but the FBI will probably occupy your time, so I’ve let Channel 4 know that we’ll probably have to reschedule. Any questions?”  
  
“Is there any news on Captain Sawyer that Lucy does not know yet?”  
  
“Last I heard she was stable but out of it. Your new friends offered to help her heal faster, but they don’t want to just walk into the hospital in costume, since they don’t have sanction.” Unsanctioned meant that  _technically_  Athene and Eris were outlaws—the MPD’s main justification for letting them go after the street fight the week before had been that there were no federal-level warrants and so technically it was a matter out of their jurisdiction. It was a legally flimsy case, but with the JCPD’s Commissioner under investigation in a sweeping bribery scandal, nobody on the state or federal level would be particularly interested in pushing the matter.  
  
“I will deal with it,” Kara promised. “The interview requests?”  
  
“CBS, NBC, CNN, Fox News, Grant International, and NPR. I suggest NPR or CNN—NPR will be polite, but very on the issues, and CNN’ll be easy. Their 4 PM lead hasn’t thrown a hardball in over six years. Grant International will be Grant herself, and  _that_  will piss off the President since Grant and the President have personal beef from when Lois was running the Planet and Grant was running the Tribune. Worse, Grant won’t give you a damn inch. She won’t slander you but it’ll be like being raked over hot coals. NBC is too left-wing, we need to keep your hero activities  _somewhat_  nonpartisan, and CBS is basically the NFL channel at this point, their news isn’t credible. Fox I  _strongly_  advise against, they’ll put you up against Beale or Buchanan and you’ll want to strangle them. Not conducive to a good interview and bad for your image.”  
  
“I want to meet with Grant. Difficult questions will make me think and keep me stable.”  
  
The publicist frowned, but nodded. “Alright, I’ll make the call.” His phone beeped, and he checked the screen. “Lucy, Lois wants you to take your phone off silent  _yesterday_.”  
  
“Shit,” the ex-Marine hissed, grabbing for her phone.  
  
“Captain Sawyer is at Metropolis General?”  
  
“That’s right. Your friends from Jump City are hanging around outside in civilian identity, according to Lucy.” The tall man held out his hand. “Congratulations, Power Woman. You did some good work today.”  
  
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’d have expected you to be upset.”  
  
Olsen snorted. “ _Please_. I’ve been handling candid nudes and nipple slips for years. Let me handle the public relations angle, you do your job, which you did damn well today. No civilian casualties after you arrived, minimal property damage,  _and_  the perp captured, in a fight between high A-list metahumans, one of them a living tactical nuke? I call that a big win, and the media’s taking that spin.” He clapped Kara on the shoulder with his left. “Go do whatever you need to do, ma’am. I’ve got the press in hand.”  
  
Kara kicked off of the ground gently, and Olsen stepped back. “Thank you, Mr. Olsen. And, about the suit…”  
  
He waved his hand dismissively. “Pro bono. Our contract with the Murphy Foundation lets us replace costumes on the cheap. Plus there’s a suit malfunction clause in your contract. The new one’s on its way, should be here in a couple of days.”  
  
“Thank you very much, Mr. Olsen.”  
  
“Not a problem, just doing my job.”  
  
***  
  
 _Metropolis General Hospital, 6:30 PM, July 6th, 2015_.  
  
Maggie Sawyer awoke slowly to see a pair of angels standing over her.  
  
“Oh, hell. Don’t tell me I died from a burned arm.” Her voice was weak and crackly, and she was woozy as all hell—probably painkillers.  
  
“Maggie!” The brunette angel sort of half lay across Maggie and planted a firm kiss on her lips. Maggie grumbled in protest, and the angel drew back, a concerned frown on her face.  
  
“No, no, s’only Alex gets to kiss me,” Maggie managed through the painkillers. She squinted, and the angel managed a weak grin. “Oh wait. God damn, I’m a lucky woman. Do that again, babe.”  
  
Agent Alex Danvers, Department of Extranormal Operations, chuckled and wiped a couple of tears out of her reddened eyes. “I think that might stress your ribs, Mags.”  
  
The other angel—oh wait, that was Kara—moved closer. “Captain. I hope that you are recovering?”  
  
“I feel like I got barbecued by a rhino,” Maggie answered honestly. Then she frowned. “Wait. Wouldn’t that just be regular barbecued? But…no, wait…”  
  
“She’s on some good drugs,” chuckled another voice—Lucy!—from somewhere out of Maggie’s view. “Hey, Sawyer. Detective Rollins’s still sleeping off her morphine, she’s stable, though she’ll have some scars on her neck for probably the rest of her life. There’s a couple of beat cops pulling double shifts to keep you two and that Sergeant Irons guy under constant guard, just in case there’s more terrorists.”  
  
“Ugh. How long was I out?” Maggie’s right arm wasn’t working, so she pulled her left across until it started to hurt and batted at Alex’s face. “Goddamn it, how did I get so lucky?”  
  
Alex blushed and kissed Maggie’s left hand before putting it back down by her side. “You were out most of the day. Athene gave you a burst from some kind of Third Law healing device that she brought with her, so we’ve had you and Detective Rollins moved into a shared room with Sergeant Irons.”  
  
“Easier for the police to guard,” Lucy cut in.  
  
“Exactly. You’re going to be fine, sweetie, Athene’s just making sure her device is recharged so that she can finish healing you and Rollins.”  
  
Maggie forced her drug-addled brain to actually meander in a coherent direction. “Hey, don’t forget to get Irons too, willya? Kara! Hey, Kara, did you beat the super guy?”  
  
“Reactron is in MPD custody,” the alien confirmed. “Apparently my fight with him made the news.”  
  
“Good, good…” Maggie tried to shift in bed and groaned in pain. “Owwww…where’s my morphine?”  
  
“You’re already on painkillers, Mags,” Alex said, rubbing her shoulder gently. “You got thrown through a pretty solid desk and aggravated the injury by crawling around with broken ribs. It’s going to take some time to fix.” God, Maggie needed to put a ring on her…no way she was letting her cuddlemuffin get away…  
  
“Oh, yeah, that’s what I needed to say!” Maggie grinned again, the fuzz of the painkillers euphoric. “I love you so much, baby.”  
  
“I know.” Alex kissed her hand again.  
  
“As sweet as this is, we do need to heal you,” Kara cut in. “Also, I should probably inform you sooner rather than later—Agent Danvers’s team in Langley discovered that Reactron was paid by Hank Henshaw’s campaign manager, likely for your assassination. They will be arrested tomorrow, I need to fly to Iowa with Agent Danvers and Lockwood’s team tonight.”  
  
“All set!” Athene announced with a grin, ducking back inside the room of beds. “The caduceus is ready, just stay still and calm and you’ll be fine.”  
  
“OK, OK…just use the minimum on me, OK, just enough to get me on my feet, then patch up Irons and Rollins and then get as many others as you can before it runs out.”  
  
Athene winced. “It’s not  _that_  powerful, Maggie. I can get you and  _maybe_  the Detective, but it’s meant for emergency healing and it doesn’t work on men.”  
  
“What?” Maggie was pissed, now, and she tried to get up, falling back with a grunt of pain as her ribs screamed complaints. “What kind of use is the damn thing, then? Don’t touch me with it!”  
  
“Baby, now’s not the time for principles,” Alex cut in, horrified by the sight of Maggie in pain. “Just let her do the thing, OK? We’ll figure it out later…”  
  
“No! I’m supposed to just go back to work like nothing’s changed, meanwhile a man who works double overtime to support his daughter and a detective with a two-year-old at home are just short on luck? Fuck no! Don’t you  _dare_  touch me with your magic sexist stick!”  
  
Athene folded her arms. “OK,” she said slowly, voice level, “I can understand where you’re coming from. It’s very noble of you – stupidly noble, given how your job depends on getting healed up quickly – but I can respect it. I felt pretty similarly the first time I realized the caduceus'…limitations. But as for getting pissy with me…if you weren’t in a hospital bed, you’d feel the back of my hand.” As Maggie glared, she went on. “You think I  _wanted_  this thing to only work on women? I’ve tried using it on men – multiple times; it’s no more effective than a flashlight. I could play it up and down a guy’s body on full power and it wouldn’t even give him a tan. But  _I_  didn’t design the thing. I don’t even know how it works – whether it was designed this way, whether it’s something to do with the elements that go into its making, or whether it really is magic – it could be forged from the feathers of Athena’s Owl for all I know. If you want to know how it works, then go and ask the people who did build it – I’d be happy to get you a direct line again. Scream at them all you want. But you can quit giving  _me_  stick right now.”  
  
Harley didn’t say anything, but the way she stepped up next to her lover made it abundantly clear how she felt on the subject.  
  
“Interesting,” Kara noted, her brow furrowed. “Have you attempted to use it on transgender people?”  
  
“…no, not yet.”  
  
“Hmm.” The alien nodded sharply. “That would be an important test, to determine how the device works.”  
  
“Could try it on someone with Turner or Klinefelter Syndrome, too,” Alex pointed out. “Or Sywer Syndrome, maybe. I wonder if it works on the same sort of principles as Rick Flagg’s powers—if there’s some metaphysical aspect we don’t yet understand that then has a physiological effect that conforms to known science.” She shook her head. “Either way, baby, she’s right. I know that we  _all_  want to use devices like that to heal the world. But there are limits, and pretty heavy ones on this particular device. So please, just accept it.”  
  
Maggie tried to cross her arms, and hissed with pain; Alex gently moved them back into place. “ _Fine_ ,” the policewoman growled. “But do the  _bare_  minimum for me. Then patch up Rollins so she can head home, and dump the rest in Ob-Gyn on whoever needs it the most.”  
  
“I probably won’t have enough to heal you both up,” Athene said apologetically. “But I’ll try.”  
  
Maggie snorted, but nodded grudgingly in acceptance. “Someday, I’m going to have a  _talk_  with that Hippolyta character, and I’m going to teach her a few things about why enforcing outdated gender roles is a  _bad thing_.”  
  
“You will not be the only one in line,” Kara noted as the purple ray worked its way up Maggie’s arm. Then she grinned. “Though I hardly needed to say that, I believe, after my previous… _words_  with that particular person.”  
  
Maggie couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, I kind of noticed. You’re many things, Power Woman, but you are  _not_  subtle.”  
  
***  
  
 _Des Moines, Iowa. 12:30 PM, July 7th, 2015._  
  
“…and you’re gonna vote for me because I’m so rich, so smart, so beautiful,” Hank Henshaw rambled, his adoring fans cheering him on. There was a protest around the edge of the rally, but all the damn haters and pansy college kids were outnumbered by Hank’s fans. “I’m the best negotiator there is, believe me! I’ll stop the Islamics from threatening us, you saw what they did, supervillains attacking America, so bad, very bad, the President’s weak, so weak, I’m not weak, my doctor says I’m the healthiest man he’s ever seen.” Shit, what the hell had he just said? Oh, well, not like he could stop now… “And we need to be better friends with other countries, wouldn’t it be nice, if for example we could be friendlier with powerful other countries, like for example Russia? I’m the strongest and best negotiator there is, I’ll make us friends with Russia, and by the way Marshal Lebed’s a great man, very strong leader, great man, I went golfing with him, so smart, very good leader.”  
  
“Hail Henshaw!” a couple of Sean’s kids from his Internet thing chanted from the front row, doing honest-to-fucking-God Nazi salutes. “Hail Humanity! Hail Victory!” What were they called, Stormfront? Pure Humanity? Honestly Hank couldn’t keep track of all that shit, and he was pretty sure they were all just goddamn Nazis either way. Not that he gave a shit, if Adolf fucking Hitler himself had offered Hank Henshaw hookers and blow he’d have taken them. He wouldn’t really go out of his way to help them, of course, but free hookers and blow were free hookers and blow.  
  
Play to the crowd, Sean had said. Hank swallowed his one remaining scruple and soldiered on. “Our Human race is under attack! Supers and maybe even aliens, who knows what some of these new supers are, they’re all illegals! We should keep them out, keep humanity pure! All this interbreeding and miscegenation is why we have supervillains, they’re so bad, very bad for our country, ruining America, making us look weak and stupid, we can’t be weak, I’m strong, I’ll make America strong!” OK, here came the tough part. “I mean, say what you will about Hitler, he knew when his race was under threat!”  
  
That made most of his fans quiet down and slow down their claps in confusion, but the kids Sean had brought in went fucking ballistic with cheers. Hank swallowed his distaste. Fucking hell, who were these sons of bitches? He might take stuff if Nazis gave it to him, but they were too racist even for Hank to actually  _support_. Well, unless they paid him a  _lot_.  
  
“Hail Hitler! Hail Henshaw!” screamed one of Sean’s cultists. Hank soldiered on; he was a  _veteran_  scammer, damn it, he had his pride and he wasn’t going to let a little queasiness stop him from pulling this off. Also his ego would never let him admit defeat.  
  
“Our nuclear is weak! It’s old and tired and pathetic and weak! And the Russians have very great nuclear, very strong, so nice, Marshal Lebed’s a really smart guy, has great nuclear, and ours is weak, we need to be the best, we need to be really tippy top with our nuclear. When I’m President, I’ll make the best nuclear, and people say I’m lying but I’m not, they’re lying, I’m going to build the wall, it’ll be seventy feet tall and have my name on it, I’ll sign it myself, so everybody knows it’s Hank Henshaw’s…what the…”  
  
Hank petered off as a white-clad blonde with a red cape fluttering behind her dropped from the clouds to hover over the rally. People turned to follow Hank’s stare, and gasps swept the crowd. Power Woman cleared her throat into a megaphone she must’ve brought with her, and a sharp tone filled the air. A screech of tires drew the candidate’s attention—oh,  _shit_.  
  
A swarm of men and women in prominent FBI vests descended upon the rally, shouting orders. Most of Hank’s fans ducked and tried to shy away, but one of Sean’s dumbass cultists tried to hit a brunette with nice tits, screaming “Pure Humanity! Hail Hitler!”. Hank winced as she grabbed the kid by the shirt and pinned his arm behind his back. Dumb kid should’ve just ducked and run, like Hank had way too many times to count.  
  
“Please remain calm,” Power Woman demanded, her voice slightly tinny through the megaphone. “If you insist on attacking the FBI agents I will be forced to intervene.”  
  
Shit. Shit, Hank was fucked up the  _ass_.  _Damn it, Sean! You said you had an exit plan!_  Hank could feel the sweat on his spine as his visions of an escape to his Paraguay mansion (no extradition except for capital murder!) evaporated. “Uh, excuse me, folks, I’ve, uh, got to run…”  
  
“Oh, no you  _don’t_ ,” the brunette with the nice tits snapped. If she grew her hair out Hank might fuck her, if she brought a couple friends of course. “Hank Henshaw, you are under arrest for high treason, tax fraud, distributing non-FDA-approved metahuman enhancement chemicals, distributing metahuman enhancement chemicals without a license, attempted conspiracy murder, and aiding and abetting a known international fugitive—specifically, wanted terrorist Omar al-Saud. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one one will be provided for you.”  
  
“You can’t do this to me!” Hank shouted in panic, struggling as the little bitch cuffed him. Maybe he should’ve actually worked out like Sean suggested—the girl was all hardened muscle, and those cuffs damn  _hurt_! “Ow! Be careful! That’s a $6,000 suit and a $2,000 tan! And my watch is a fucking Rolex, be gentle!”  
  
“Talk to the judge, Henshaw. Because my girlfriend’s in the hospital because of your assassin, and I’m not in a charitable mood.”  
  
“Hey, I didn’t hire that Corben guy, that was all Sean! I had no idea he was going to send him after more than just Power Woman and that bitch of a cop, I didn’t know anything about it, trust me, I’m a businessman! When I get off of these charges, I’m gonna sue your ass for  _everything_  you’ve ever earned, you bitch! I’m Hank goddamn Henshaw, I’m fucking  _rich_ , you goddamn Feds can’t make a goddamn thing stick on me!”  
  
He must’ve said something wrong, because the bitch threw him into an SUV a lot harder than Hank felt was necessary.  
  
***  
  
 _Gotham City International Airport, Illinois. 12:30 PM, July 7th, 2015._  
  
Sean Bentley tugged the Stetson as low as he dared and prayed that his sweat wouldn’t melt the glue on his fake moustache as he waited to give his passport to the TSA agent. The picture was of him in a similar moustache, but the name said  _Steve Dallas_. Sean just needed to get to Switzerland and then he could get in his vault—and hopefully get the Hell out of the metahuman business. That Ares asshole paid well, but his bargain wasn’t cheap.  
  
 _What the Hell do I do next?_ He’d have to fly straight from Switzerland to Paraguay after he’d emptied his Swiss vault, then hide out—he still had that Ramon Escobar identity that he could use in a pinch, though he hated to pretend to be a fucking beaner. And it’d royally suck, laying low for a couple of years…but there were options, there were always options, especially for a man who knew supers. Without Henshaw’s money he couldn’t hire anyone to finish the job Corben had fucked up, but there were still a few neo-Nazi and neoreactionary supers out there who owed him favors. Including one who was in cahoots with a computer specialist—Sean could get a new identity pretty easily if he had to, though it would mean putting up with an incel obsessed with “game” for a couple of weeks, and even Sean could only take so much ranting about how women were demons incarnate and secretly conspired to poison all men before he would lose his shit.  
  
 _Of course Corben had to fucking blow it,_ and _they’d find my secret account,_  the now former campaign manager grumbled to himself.  _Overpaid worthless assassin couldn’t even kill the goddamn cop right._  
  
“Next,” the TSA agent called in a bored tone. Sean stuck his ticket in his passport and stepped up…  
  
The scanner flashed red. Sean took in a sharp breath.  
  
“Sorry, sir, there seems to be some problem with our system…” But Sean saw the man going for his walkie-talkie.  _Damn_.  
  
“Dispatch, we have a possible on the VIP…He’s running!”  
  
“OUT OF MY WAY!” Sean yelled, grabbing the passport and ticket back and charging for the metal detectors. He pulled out the last syringe of Titan’s Blood from its concealed holster in his suit pocket as he did so, injecting himself roughly in the lower left arm as he barged people aside. He shouted in pain, but forced the plunger down, then threw the device aside.  
  
The Blood hit him  _fast_ , letting Sean slam shoulder-first into a 300-lb TSA bluecoat and sending the big man flying backwards mere seconds after injection.  _Come on…5 minutes, they can’t stop the flight now…_  Especially with TSA being uncoordinated at the best of times.   
  
He charged through onto the open concourse, running for his gate as fast as his legs could carry him. He was gaining on his pursuers, the Blood supercharging his…  
  
A door appeared in his face and Sean slammed into it at over thirty miles per hour. The door crumpled, but Sean’s face hit something even harder and he collapsed to the ground.  
  
“Sean Bentley?” asked a masked woman in Greek-styled armor. “You’re coming with us.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Sean wheezed, rolling to his feet and trying to…  
  
The baseball bat took him in the face and he crumpled back into Athene, who grabbed him in an iron grip instantly. Something bit him in the neck, and Sean snarled as he felt his strength draining. “What the fuck? What the hell did you do, you bitch?”  
  
“Captain Sawyer’s girlfriend synthesized an antidote,” Athene said with a grin. Sean cursed again and struggled in vain against her iron grip. “Eris, honey, put the bat away, he’s back to Human.”  
  
“Aaaaaawwwww…” The other vigilante, a figure wearing a hooded black robe and wielding a baseball bat, stalked forward, disappointment filling her voice. “I’ve never had a Nazi piñata before! I was gonna see if there was any swastika-shaped candy!”  
  
“Nah, he wouldn’t be disgorging anything sweet, babe,” Athene said. “Just racist bile.”  
  
“Well, maybe it’d be good for him. A few hits now’d save him from ulcers later. All that hate’s gotta be burnin’ a hole in ‘im.”  
  
“God damn you to Hell, you dyke bitches!” Sean snarled. So much for his goddamn getaway…  
  
The Eris woman laughed. “Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m a woman. Kinda obvious right there. Yeah, I’m a dyke - pretty massive one at that. And just to add? I’m Jewish.” She bent down. “So… you got your Nazi ass beaten by a  _Gay Jewish Woman_. Chew on that while you’re lying in prison.”  
  
Sean roared at the top of his lungs, flailing ineffectually in Athene’s grip as he tried to strangle the goddamn bat-wielding nut where she stood. “You filthy k***! I’ve got friends! Powerful friends, they’ll track you down and when they do…”  
  
“Insert crude sexual threats an’ Nazi rantings here?” Eris finished cheerfully as Athene carried the flailing man towards justice. More specifically, towards the GCPD SWAT team and FBI agents who were catching their breath near the metal detectors. “Heard it before, pal. Don’t change the fact that you’re gonna be remembered up there with Benedict Arnold.”  
  
***  
  
 _Karen Starr’s apartment, Metropolis. 10:45 PM, July 7th, 2015._  
  
Kara grabbed the demonic creature that, because it had fur and meowed, technically qualified as a pet cat, shoved him back inside her apartment with practiced ease, and closed the door behind her before tossing the backpack containing her costume and several personal-pizza boxes onto the couch. She was unreasonably tired after the excitement of the last week and her cross-country flight, plus having to pull a sinking ship into port after a collision between a Coast Guard frigate and a freighter off of Miami—even at Mach 2, which already had the news outlets speculating about her obfuscating about her power level, that was a little much.  
  
And of course she’d had to rehearse for her interview early this morning, because James Olsen had put his foot down and demanded that she  _never_  talk to the press unprepared again. She’d come up with a relatively memorable set of soundbites about doing what one could every day, supporting truth and justice, and other of her positions that her publicist had deemed acceptable for prime time. Hopefully she’d be able to remember them all when the cameras started rolling.  
  
The furry menace currently known as  _Смугастий_  landed on Kara’s back and dug in as she did the litter box, then washed her hands at super-speed before removing the cat and turning on the shower. Showering took only two minutes, again at super-speed, and the cat leaped in after Kara was done as was his bizarre custom.  
  
 _Hopefully things will go back to normal, with Athene and Eris on their way back to Jump City and Henshaw’s lot out of the way,_  Kara mused to herself. She threw on a pair of flannel pyjama pants and an old, oversized shirt from Russia, and sighed resignedly as  _Смугастий_  sat himself on top of her blankets and immediately began snoring like a buzzsaw.  
  
 _I should’ve left the damn cat in Russia_.  
  
***  
  
 _Fort Rozz prison patrol ship 0A5. Alpha Centauri system. 4.37 light years from Earth_.  
  
“Archon,” a stern-faced woman announced, her dark hair streaked with silver. “We have company.”  
  
Ares bowed respectfully as he stepped from his portal with Diana at his side, the goateed man called the Archon stepping up with a raised eyebrow. It had taken six shootouts and a little covert funding of a Mexican drug cartel war to give him enough power to open this gate, but it would be worth just to make contact—especially with so many of his minions failing him in recent weeks. “Greetings, Archon. I am called Ares. I am a great admirer of your work.”  
  
“You know of me?” the Archon asked. Not surprised, but carefully neutral.  
  
“Of course. Earth may be a primitive world, but there are those among us who are… _aware_  of the depths of the universe.” He straightened. “I have a proposition for you, great Archon. I have many followers, powerful weapons at my disposal, and several plans ongoing to increase my power. An alliance between us, to subjugate and control the Earth and remake it in our image, would be of great benefit between us.”  
  
“You presume much, and offer little,” the Archon replied, still calm. Three others approached—a tall, dark-haired man, a whippet-thin shorter one with a clipped mustache, and a dark-haired young woman with eyes filled with wrath. “We have travelled far to find a suitable world, and are uninterested in sharing.”  
  
“Archon,” the older woman spoke up. “An alliance with a local power  _would_  help in preparing Earth for the coming war.”  
  
“We do not need him, Arclomnian In-Ze,” the Archon snapped. “Our power is enough to conquer the planet. And, of course, sharing power would hamper your— _our_  efforts to prepare the planet to face the Light.”  
  
“How dare…” Diana started forward, but Ares’s hand shot out.  
  
“Not now,” he hissed. “Even here, they are powerful—A-list, by Earth standards.” Alpha Centauri was a dim sun, and on the orange spectrum, but that was still enough to make the Archon and his followers individually at least as powerful as Diana, and Ares didn’t like his chances against five.  
  
“A wise decision,” the Archon noted, kicking off of the deck, reinforcing the absurd level of power with which his species was gifted. “We have no need of your services.”  
  
“Dru-Zod, subjugating the planet may damage the local infrastructure,” the Arclomnian insisted. “We need every bit that we can to…”  
  
“And allying with a petty local satrap will tie us to local power disputes,” the Archon called Zod snarled. “Stand down.”  
  
“Sir.” The Arclomnian growled it, but obeyed with military immediacy.  
  
“I apologize for taking up your time,” Ares said with another bow. “The offer is open, should you wish to revisit it.” He jerked his head towards the portal, and Diana grudgingly stepped through moments before Ares himself.  
  
A failure on the surface, perhaps. But the seeds were there, and Ares knew well how easily one could cultivate such things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm a shipper and I'm Sanvers trash. Can't decide between them and General Danvers in the Supergirl fandom tbh. Deal with it. 
> 
> 2\. Kara is about a century old and has been through a LOT. She's also a talkative drunk. 
> 
> 3\. Kara has Opinions. She's a hundred years old and spent a great deal of her life in Russia being pissed at the government. Kara's Opinions tend to piss people other than Kara off. This will become relevant later in the story. 
> 
> 4\. The Clothing Damage is an intentional Power Girl joke. Kara can walk through a thermonuclear blast without damage, her clothes aren't so lucky. (Keep in mind that in the comics, Superman's suit originally was made of Kryptonian cloth that was as invulnerable as he was; Kara's stuck with Earth clothes which are fragile) I'm also lampshading the superficial focus of a lot of modern real-life media and their apparent inability to report on important stuff like the President being a corrupt rapist traitor. 
> 
> 5\. There is some reference to A, B, and C-list supers; this is a rough in-universe classification system. Basically, a C-lister is only a threat to unprepared, surprised, or poorly-equipped normal humans, a B-lister is a significant military asset but can be contained or terminated by sufficiently prepared normal humans, and an A-lister is basically a walking army. Kate Kane/Athene and John Stewart/Green Lantern are A-listers. Kryptonians are the step above that, which scares the pants off of most of the world's leaders.


	6. Ujamaa Means Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 14, by randomideaguy/loneranger (the same person). The original idea called for two episodes but I think the juxtaposition created by following the two teams at once actually works pretty well. Hope you enjoy!

**Infinity Tower, Jump City**  
  
John Stewart was already awake when the alarm sounded, sitting in the central “foyer” of Infinity Tower drinking some coffee and reading the news on his laptop. He used to do this with his father in the mornings and later his friends in the army, but lately he seemed to be spending more and more time alone.  
  
The first who entered the foyer was Harley, having come from one of the five “guest rooms” for vigilantes in Jump City who didn’t have a place to stay. Harley could almost be seen as sleep walking, still in PJs and hair astray as she grunted her way towards the espresso machine.  
  
“There’s a pot next to you.” John said. He was met with silence, a long awkward one as Harley went through the motions of making herself a drink - she certainly looked like she had done it before. At last, after taking a sip, she smiled.  
  
“Now you may speak.” Harley said with a tired grin, “Thanks greenie, but Kate and I prefer the sweeter stuff. Well, I do, and she has to drink whatever I make.” With that Harley went back upstairs towards their room, a little bit more bubbly. Behind John, the elevator opened as Oliver and Silas stepped into the room, already discussing the events of the day.  
  
John stood up, making his way slowly over to them while sipping out of his coffee.  
  
“You’re sure the information is good?” Oliver asked. Silas nodded grimly.  
  
“I know the timing isn’t exactly perfect, Mr. Queen.” Silas replied.  
  
“What’s going on?” John asked. Oliver shook his head, staring out the window for a moment.  
  
“One sec John, I want to tell the whole group when they get here.” Oliver said. Moments later, Harley bounded down the steps with her typical happy demeanor, her coffee cup mysteriously empty. Kate seemed to float behind her, taking more methodical sippage from her drink.  
  
“Whose head are we bashing in today!” Harley talked a little too loudly. The elevator opened behind Oliver.  
  
“We like to avoid the head bashing, if we can.” Barbara said as she and Lex entered. Of the two, Barbara seemed as she always did - one wondered if she had even been asleep when the alarm went off on her phone. Lex on the other hand seemed quite cranky, despite his immense intellect the man didn’t have to common sense to have grabbed a cup of coffee.  
  
“And the student surpasses the master.” Harley said dramatically as she bounded up to Barbara and gave her a quick hug. There was a pause as everyone’s eyes turned expectantly to Oliver. He made a motion with his head towards the lower part of the foyer - a circular couch surrounding a large screen. Everyone made their way over there.  
  
“I’m telling ya, we should’ve gone with Eris and the Knights of the Round Table.” Harley said as she skidded to a halt on the left end of the couch and laid down dramatically. A tired Kate just lifted up Harley’s legs and set underneath them, taking a sip from her coffee.  
  
“Well, Infinity Incorporated tested better with the focus groups.” Lex said as he sat at the opposite end of the couch. Harley mocked him from her corner, but was at least polite enough to make her ‘Lex-voice’ quiet enough so that only Kate could hear. Whatever she said, foam flew up from Kate’s face as she snorted while drinking her latte, laughing.  
  
“Alright everyone.” Oliver said, although not very sternly as he grinned and surveyed the group. Silas took this as his cue to turn on the television screen behind Oliver and a collection of pictures and documents flittered across the screen.  
  
“We’ve got leads - too many of them, in fact.” Oliver said. With a pause he gestured towards one picture that showed Jacob Kane, a picture seemingly taken from afar.  
  
“First up, we’ve gotten pretty good intel that Jacob Kane - head of ARGUS for those of you who don’t recognize him - is the target of an assassination attempt at the Veterans Gala in Gotham City. Security will be high since the President and Captain Freedom are there, but this seems to match Ares MO and I’m worried they won’t be packing enough.” Oliver informed the group.  
  
“Based on what I could pick up when Johnny and I hacked into ARGUS’s systems.” Barbara began, and in the middle of the couch John tried not to spit out his coffee, “They’ve got a big arsenal of weapons that would be very useful to Mr. God of War. Not something we want to get into the wrong hands.”  
  
“Aren’t those files DNA locked to Kane?” John asked incredulously. Barbara grinned, holding up her fingers where little plastic bits seemed to gleam on her fingertips.  
  
“I bumped into him at a coffee shop. Spilled his coffee but he wouldn’t even let me pay for it.” Barbara grinned.  
  
“Anyways, we’re looking at either an assassination attempt or a kidnapping so that they can use Jacob’s DNA lock to get the ARGUS weapons cache.” Barbara said. She nodded at Oliver, who skipped to the next slide.  
  
“The next one comes from a personal contact in the Heart of Africa. Together with some of the info Kate brought back from Metropolis - great work, by the way - we’re pretty sure that the Titan’s Blood is being manufactured within Eastern Africa, coordinates suggest somewhere in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest.” Oliver said, pronouncing the Swahili word ‘Bwindi’ with an eerie accuracy for an upper class white man.  
  
“Unfortunately the contact also says that it looks like they’re packing up to move the production site, probably out of fear that we’ve caught onto their operation. That makes both of these operations need immediate attention. Silas suggested maybe doing one after the other, but I was wondering what you guys thought.” Oliver said with a short sigh. Harley raised a hand.  
  
“You don’t need to raise your hand Harley. What’s up?” Oliver asked. Harley grinned.  
  
“I’ve always wanted to go to Africa.” Harley said. Oliver nodded, turning his attention to Kate.  
  
“I’ll go to Gotham.” She said simply, seeming less tired now but focused. Harley turned to her, confused.  
  
“But we always travel together, babe!” Harley whined in her own cute way. Kate grinned, running a hand through Harley’s hair.  
  
“This one’s important, I’ll explain later.” Kate explained, “Besides, it’s not just you and me anymore. Who's going to make sure Oliver doesn’t get another arrow in the butt?”  
  
At this everyone chuckled, and Oliver turned beet red.  
  
“It was one time!” He tried to say above the general laughter, but his smile said that he was taking the ribbing good naturedly. After things died down, attention turned to John, who was sitting next to Kate.  
  
“I’ll take care of Jacob. He’s my ex boss after all.” John said simply. Attention next moved to Barbara, who was relaxed with her feet up.  
  
“I can go, but I’m not comfortable leaving Jump City without a vigilante.” Barbara said seriously.   
  
“Maybe we can call our new friends in Metropolis?” Kate offered. Barbara shook her head.  
  
“I think Power Woman has a lot on her plate at the moment, though. Plus they aren’t familiar with the city. Could make things too difficult on them.” Barbara replied.  
  
“Pew might be busy, but I bet we could borrow Tweety Bird!” Harley replied from her side of the couch where she had finally relieved the pressure of her feet and Kate’s thighs and was now absentmindedly braiding the redhead’s hair.  
  
“They have a vigilante named Tweety Bird?” Oliver asked. Kate smiled over her cup of coffee, casting a glance at Harley.   
  
“I can call Lucy after this, see if she wants to join Ollie and Harley in Africa. It is based off of her lead, anyways. She deserves to get to see it through.” Barbara said, “And I’ll stay here and keep the city safe.”  
  
“They grow up so fast.” Lex offered from the other end of the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
  
“That’s an awful lot of firepower in Gotham and not very much in Africa.” Harley offered. Kate turned to Harley, smiling slightly.  
  
“I’ll go to Africa.” Lex said, voice scratchy from his tiredness.  
  
“That does not make me feel better.” Harley replied insensitively. Kate turned to Harley.  
  
“You’ve got this babe, I trust you.” Kate said, Harley blushed and wrapped her arms around Kate.  
  
“You’re just saying that so I won’t tie you up again!” Harley said.  
  
And there went the rest of John’s coffee.  
  
**Gotham City**  
  
A lithe black car speeds down the streets of one of the wealthiest cities in the world. They fly past a billboard with a smiling billionaire on it. ‘Vote Wayne’ it demands with little self awareness. Inside the car, the two occupants are noticeably silent. This irks one of them.  
  
“You okay?” Kate asked from the driver seat. John was silent for a moment.  
  
“Hmm?” John mumbled, eyes focused fiercely on the road before them. Kate waved a hand next to his face.  
  
“Earth to Green Lantern.” Kate said, John shook himself out of a daze, “I know we don’t do small talk very much but you’re usually not this quiet.” Kate said. John shrugged, silent for a moment.  
  
“Director Kane and I didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms. Course that doesn’t mean he deserves to die at Ares hand, but I’m worried it will be awkward.” John replied. Kate nodded, looking out the window as the lights passed. John wished he had a cigarette. He scratched his head, pulling a map out of the glove box.  
  
“This Jacob guy seems like a good guy; Presidential medal and all he’s gotta have done something right. Looks like a great target for Ares and his men.” Kate said, while John was looking over the map. There was a pause.  
  
“It’s going to be mostly veterans there, I know you have a complicated -” John began.  
  
“It’s not that complicated.” Kate said with a smile, but her tone carried the implication that the conversation end. John nodded again, looking down at the map and slowly balling it up. He sighed as he put it into the glove box.  
  
“How’s your dad feel about it?” John asked. Kate’s breath sucked in for a moment, but she forced herself not to react.  
  
“Why do you ask?” Kate asked cautiously. John shrugged.  
  
“My old man died when I was a teenager, but I always wished he could’ve seen me make it into the military.” John offered kindly enough. Kate seemed to relax at this.  
  
“Well, I’m sure my dad thinks I’m dead. That probably works better for everyone.” Kate said. There was silence for a moment.  
  
“Maybe, but maybe not. I know if I had the chance to talk to my dad again, I wouldn’t hesitate no matter how awkward things were between us.” John replied. Kate was silent, chewing on the information as they thankfully pulled up to the convention center.  
  
A chauffeur showed up in moments, Kate quickly noted the glint of a handgun in his jacket. Soon the door was opened for them and Kate stepped out of the car, sporting the yellow dress that Harley had given her a few weeks ago.  
  
“Security.” John said as he flashed a badge to the chauffeur. The other man nodded, stepping past Kate to get into the car that they had been driving.  
  
“Nice one.” The young man mouthed, pointing at Kate. John shook his head, scowling. Thankfully Kate didn’t notice. They split off, walking in two different directions. Kate pressed a finger to her ear.  
  
“Still not keen on the whole dress thing.” Kate responded. John’s face remained unmoved as he stepped towards the security station to receive his assignment - on stage security detail for Jacob Kane.  
  
“You said we could use more security. We can’t all just be wearing security badges.” John replied. Kate nodded, slowly, stepping inside the well lit gala and staring up at a large banner with her father’s face plastered across it. Below it, a white-haired man with a truly absurd number of medals, ribbons, and sashes festooning his uniform was giving a speech kicking off the whole gala. Kate hadn't met him in person before, but no American who'd been born after 1945 could possibly avoid knowing who Audie "Captain Freedom" Murphy, until recently the world's single most powerful metahuman, was by sight.  
  
“Well, I don’t think wearing a suit would’ve broken my cover.” Kate replied. There was silence for a few seconds, presumably John talking to the head of security. Kate let herself listen to the speech for a moment.  
  
"...I've seen a Hell of a lot. Morocco, Sicily, Rome, Hamburg, the Bulge, Munich, Pyongyang, the Yalu, and a dozen other mudpits and hellholes the world over. I've seen and done things I'm not proud of, and..."  
  
“Look, just focus on getting Ares. You’re the heavy hitter here.” John said. Kate didn’t respond, walking up to the bar for a drink.  
  
“Was that a compliment?” She wondered about Stewart's remark to keep herself from getting too deep, sitting down at one of the tall seats and looking across the menu.  
  
“Hey there, you come here often?” A man sitting next to her tried to ask. Kate turned to him, smiling.  
  
“Gotham? No, but I’m a regular at these sort of deals.” Kate replied, “Whiskey, dry.” She said to the bartender. The man quickly served up her drink, and Kate spun in her chair and pulled out a notebook. She could already see John in place as she surveyed the room. On stage, Murphy's speech drew to a close.  
  
"...and I won't lie to you. It was hell. All that I saw, all that we've all seen. But I'd gladly go through that hell again for my country, and I expect that my country will treat every one of us with the respect that we deserve for our service. It's been rough lately--Veterans' Affairs has gypped a lot of good people, screwed the men and women of the United States military out of our medical care and more, and our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have killed a lot of good men and women who shouldn't have been sent over there. I don't like to get into politics, not since the '50s, but our President has done well by us." A murmur of approval swept the room. "There's a Hell of a lot of work to be done, but she's fought for us and our rights every day of her administration. I'm proud to serve her as an ambassador, and I'm proud to welcome to this event the President of the United States, Lois Lane!"  
  
“Scan the room, look for known associates.” Kate thought to herself as she did just that - comparing people’s face with a few sketches in her notebook. Unfortunately the team didn’t have much of a database of associates of Ares. Even Hippolyta hadn’t been very helpful in this matter.  
  
That quickly got swept away as the next person stepped on stage. She felt silly for it, but even now the sight of the first woman President left her awestruck. It just didn’t seem real, at times. Especially after all the adversity she had faced in her own life. President Lois Lane just looked just like she should - hair groomed but not overly so, eyes sharp, a disarming smile, and ultimately a presence that commanded the attention everywhere in the room.  
  
“Hello, men and women of the Armed Services. You may sit.” Lois said simply, and Kate noticed that many in the crowd had stood and saluted Madame President as she had appeared on stage. A few of the servicewoman in the audience clapped, but Lois waved them off with a blush.  
  
“Thank you, thank you very much. Not just for clapping, but for your service. Each and every one of you has put your life on the line to protect this country, but more importantly to protect what it stands for. All of you carry a piece of this country with you.” Lois paused.  
  
“Tocqueville said America is great because she is good, and if America ceases to be good, she will cease to be great. With men and women like you representing this country all over the world, I know for a fact that we will never have to worry about our country ceasing to be great.” She paused for dramatic effect, as a polished speaker like Ms. Lane would.  
  
“It seems I haven’t lost my penchant for rambling. Hopefully I’ve remembered how to put the spotlight on those who deserve it, though, which leads us quickly to our main event of the night - to honor the service of Jacob Kane, current head of ARGUS.” Lois continued to muted clapping as Jacob waltzed onto the stage.  
  
“Jacob and I didn’t get off to the best start,” At this Jacob and a few others in the crowd chuckled, “But ultimately I decided that regardless of party, Jacob got to the place he did because of what he could do. Because of what he was capable of. And I knew from my years as a reporter how to size someone up. Jacob Kane is not a man you underestimate, let me tell you.”  
  
“And he has not disappointed. Since day one he has worked tirelessly to keep our country safe. And for these deeds, both during my Presidency and the preceding three Presidencies, I would like to formally honor him for his services with the-” Lois continued.  
  
“Medal of Honor seems a little excessive, don’t it?” The man sitting next to Kate finally spoke up again, taking a drag at his cigar. She turned to him, taken out of the speech.  
  
“Well, he’s got a pretty good record.” Kate said simply. The man just chuckled bitterly, setting his cigar down slowly.  
  
“You don’t look like one of the gals from the Gotham Gazette beat.” The man said. Kate just shrugged, taking a sip of her drink.  
  
“I’m from out of town. Medal of Honor’s a pretty big deal.” Kate said without malice, “You from the Gazette?” The man just chuckled at that.  
  
“Nah, I’m Wesley Dodds, Sergeant First Class. Served with old Kane up there in Colombia.” Wesley introduced himself and held out a hand for him to shake, which Kate did.  
  
“Well I’d love to get a character reference after the ceremony, if you’d like. You know my editor loves that little bit of personal flavor.” Kate responded, cooly comfortable in her undercover role. Wesley nodded slowly, eyes darting for a moment around the room. He returned his hand to his side and brought his cigar back to bear.  
  
“Well lady, I don’t think your editor would like what I have to say. Kane and I didn’t leave on the best of terms.” Wesley said, drawing his words out slowly and he held up his other arm. Kate’s eyes widened as she saw that his hand was missing, replaced by a cheap metal pincer.  
  
“Not at all. Besides, I can always edit out the bad parts.” Kate said with a smile. Wesley chuckled at that.  
  
“Maybe another day.” Wesley said as he raised his glass to Jacob as Lois led the Veteran’s Gala in a toast of the man. He turned back to Kate.  
  
“Sorry for ruining your night, Miss.” He said rather ominously as he got up and began to stumble towards the stage. Kate stared after him for a moment. Everyone was standing now, applauding Jacob Kane. After a moment, things had quieted down and people began approaching the stage to shake the hand of the latest recipient of the Medal of Honor.  
  
Something felt wrong, and Kate felt a chill go down her spine. Almost in a daze, she began following Wesley across the room towards the stage where everyone was crowding around Jacob to shake his hand. John saw her moving and followed dutifully in the same direction she did.  
  
“Congratulations on your medal, sir.” Wesley said nonchalantly as he shook Jacob’s hand. Kate backed off for a moment, circling the crowd of people almost like a shark. John was also alert, eyes on.  
  
“You!” Jacob said, voice filled with venom. Kate raised an eyebrow as she felt something change within the room. Something unpleasant - a feeling she typically associated with servants of Ares and straight guys trying to hit on her. She moved through the circle, unconcerned about blowing her cover.  
  
“Dodd!” She yelled as the man turned around to see Kate lunging at him, allowing her to see that his pincer hand was now replaced with a gauntlet - and Jacob’s eyes were glowing bright gold. The hand came up faster than Kate would’ve expected for a supposedly drunk man; he grabbed Kate by the neck.  
  
“Kate!” John yelled as he tried to tackle Jacob out of the way, resulting in him getting caught and tangled up in the break in reality that formed around Wesley Dodd’s golden fist. Everything went black.  
  
There was a slow clicking motion as darkness surrounded them. Slowly Kate and John lost their perception of their bodies until suddenly out of the darkness Dodds floated towards them. John reached for the gun that had been in his waistband but found that it was missing. Dodd let out a slow, eerie cackle.  
  
“Well, now isn’t this interesting?” Dodds said, with a wide grin. Kate tried to jump at him using her powers, but found that she barely made it a few inches off of the ground - she suddenly thought of her attempt to join the basketball team in high school and landed on the ‘ground’ with a grunt.  
  
“I’ve gotten Athene and the Green Lantern, two of master’s enemies for the price of one! Ares will love this.” Dodds said, floating ominously above them with only his golden fist - where his prosthetic pincer was just a bit ago - glowing and providing the only source of light for the group.  
  
“Who the hell are you and where is Kane!?” Kate demanded angrily. Dodds floated in a circle around them as he grinned, his form seeming to melt more into something akin to Kate and John’s nightmares than a human man.  
  
“Don’t you know? I am Ares’s greatest warrior - Morpheus! The Master of Dreams! And now that you’ve been caught by me, you shall be forced to live in your own personal hells for the rest of eternity!” Dodds explained as he cackled, disappearing as a black mist seemed to engulf the two heroes.  
  
“Stay close.” Kate said as she went back to back with John who looked down at his hand and grunted in frustration as he found his ring missing.  
  
“I hope you remember basic.” John said as he brought his fists up. Even so, the mist surrounded them and the two couldn’t help but feel like children for some reason. John’s eyes widened as a police officer appeared before him, a pale white man with no hair and glowing red eyes. Similar to a memory, but not quite - just as a nightmare should be.  
  
On Kate’s side, her breath sucked in as a man in a clean cut military uniform appeared before her, his mouth full of fanged teeth and his eyes missing.  
  
“John?” She said, wondering if he felt as small as she did in this moment.  
  
“Yep.” John said simply as he recognized what she wanted to do. The two spun around, bracing against each other’s backs.  
  
“You’ll never amount to anything, n*****!” The police officer said as Kate found herself facing him.  
  
“You don’t belong here!!” The uniformed man demanded of John as he faced him.  
  
“I am SO going to kick your ass.” The two heroes said in unison as they lunged at the other person’s respective nightmare.

 **G **oma, Zaire**  
  
** “Sorry again, ma’am!” Oliver waved apologetically at the flight attendant as he practically dragged Harley off of his personal jet.  
  
“I see you haven’t changed much.” Lucy said with a small grin as she approached the two. Harley turned from the flight attendant - apparently Harley’s new archnemesis - and grinned at Lucy.  
  
“Tweety Bird! Long time no see!” Harley said with a grin, suddenly forgetting about the flight attendant who had apparently taken the wrong tone when asking Harley to stop pulling pranks on the staff. Lucy made a nod at Harley and Oliver.  
  
“Wish we could come together under better circumstances.” Lucy said sheepishly. Harley just grinned, putting an arm around Oliver.  
  
“Ah, don’t worry, Ollie here’s good for at least sixteen shots.” Harley said. Behind them, Lex began lugging a large box down the staircase from the private jet, slipping a tip to the flight attendant with an apologetic look. Harley leaned in close to Lucy.  
  
“Plus we got our own mad scientist. I bet he could make us some crazy cocktails if we got him tipsy enough.” Harley said.  
  
“Ladies,” Oliver said noncommittally as a nice car pulled up on the tarmac.  
  
“Botende!” Oliver said as he left the group and headed towards the driver. A large, bald black man stepped out, offering a wide smile as he wrapped Oliver in a huge bear hug, lifting the blonde man off of the ground with crushing strength.  
  
“Ollie’s either bein’ choked to death or that’s his boo thang.” Harley whispered conspiratorially to Lucy who just chuckled in response.  
  
“I think they’re friends.” Lex huffed as he came to stop behind the two women. Botende finally set Oliver down.  
  
“It’s been too long Oliver, you must visit more often.” Botende said with heavily accented English. The easy bet being that his native language was Swahili. Oliver laughed, placing a comfortable hand on Botende’s large shoulder.  
  
“I promise I will, buddy. Now, is it okay if I drive? I know you’re supposed to pick us up, but…” Oliver trailed off, and Botende smiled widely.  
  
“That is not your style, Mr. Queen. Keys are in the ignition.” Botende said kindly as he stepped away from the car. Behind them, Lucy nearly fell over as Harley bowled past her to the left side of the car.  
  
“Oh, I always wanted to drive in Africa!” Harley said as she flung the door open - and saw Oliver sitting smugly on the driver’s side of the car, the opposite side she was used to. Harley crossed her arms.  
  
“Awww, you’re no fun!” Harley jumped in, “Ooh, what’s this button do?” Lucy could hear Harley saying as the windshield wipers began fluttering wildly. She walked slowly to the car with Lex and helped him lift the case into the back. They didn’t bother with the small talk as they both piled into the back seat.  
  
“So, Lucy is James working you too hard?” Oliver asked conversationally from the front seat. He gunned the engine - typical rich kid style - and within minutes they had left the airstrip and were roaming the roads of Goma. The radio was filled with chatter, but all in Swahili.  
  
“Not too bad, since I got promoted we’re sort of on the same level now. But I did get the weekend off, figured it was important when Oracle called me.” Lucy said with a shrug, she motioned to the radio.  
  
“What’s going on?” She asked.  
  
“How did you know I speak Swahili?” Oliver asked with a smile, but he turned the radio up.  
  
“There’s a conference going on, a big deal between Presidents McCabe and Zavimbe about formally joining the Lane Pact. Looks like -” Oliver trailed off as their car came to a halt at the only stop light in the town. Outside of their car were lots of people, holding up signs and yelling. One didn’t need to speak Swahili to see that they were angry.  
  
“It’s never simple, is it?” Lex said sarcastically from his seat next to Lucy.  
  
“Simple is boring.” Harley said from the passenger seat, where her feet were propped up against the dash.  
  
“We’re here.” Oliver said as he pulled them into an alleyway. His face was a bit more taut now, concern apparent over whatever was on those signs. Two men walked out of a nearby house, barely concealing the tommy guns strapped to their shoulder. Oliver made a signal to them and they waved him through a gate that they opened by hand.  
  
“Oliver Queen! My favorite American!” A well dressed black man said as he stood up from the lush water fountain that he had apparently been sitting on while waiting for the group to arrive.  
  
“Is that?” Lucy asked, mostly to herself.  
  
“The President’s younger brother? Yep.” Lex replied, apparently as surprised as she was. Oliver hopped out of the car and received his second bear hug since he had landed in Africa. The two turned to Harley, who shrugged.  
  
“Beats me how they know each other!” She said before popping open the door and exiting the car along with the rest.  
  
“David, I wish we could meet under better circumstances.” Oliver said sincerely as David nonchalantly began to lead the group into a well decorated mansionette. He nodded to one of the guards.  
  
“Mdawe here will take care of your luggage, Mr. Luthor.” David said before turning to the women, “I notice you all packed light, not planning on staying long?”  
  
“Just here to do a job.” Lucy replied as she followed the group into the warm foyer of the mansionette. David nodded solemnly.  
  
“It is just as well, I know that your time here will be fruitful for us all. I am greatly concerned about this apparent ‘Titan’s Blood’. If the UN or others were to find that it were being produced here… well, it would not do well for our international standing.” David said simply. Lucy raised an eyebrow, smelling something fishy.  
  
“Couldn’t your brother do anything about it?” She asked, trying to strike a conversational tone. David just laughed.  
  
“Well, certainly. But then as you know we are dealing with gods. I thought it might be a job better suited to Mr. Queen and his wonderful friends. Our police are spread thin, and I know the type of metas associated with this Titan’s Blood - not something I can in good conscience ask him to risk.” David replied. Harley crossed her arms, dramatically popping the ginormous bubble she had been working this whole time.  
  
“So we’re what, like your canon fodder for this mission?” Harley asked. David made a wide, awkward smile as he looked from Harley to Lucy to Oliver. Oliver just chuckled.  
  
“Hey, you’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, you’ve got me in your corner. Now if you could just point us in the direction of the camp, I would be much obliged.” Oliver said with a smile. David’s smile didn’t falter as he pulled a drawer out from the desk and retrieved a piece of paper from it.  
  
“Here you go, my friend.” David said. Oliver grabbed the paper, brow furrowed as he scanned the contents.  
  
“Well, let’s gear up. Can’t afford to waste any time.” Oliver said. The group didn’t need much more coercion. Everyone scattered to their respective room (well, room - the girls had one and the boys had another) to don their costumes.  
  
“Does your suit have a built in fan?” Harley was asking Lucy as the two of them exited.  
  
“Oliver?” David stopped Mr. Queen before he could exit the room with the others. Oliver turned to look at his friend.  
  
“Good luck. I’m afraid you’ll need it.” David said simply. **  
**  
Nightmare Realm**  
  
** The police officer - while a figment of imagination - hit the ground realistically enough as Kate flipped him over her shoulder. However, when she tried to reach for his gun the officer reacted quickly by kicking Kate in the face and knocking her backwards. She could already feel her face bruising.  
  
“Well, this is new.” She thought to herself. Not too far behind her, John was going toe to toe with a man who looked suspiciously like Kate’s old CO. She wondered what this cop was to John. Kate dodged to the left of a punch thrown by the cop - while she was apparently powerless, she still had a copious amount of training behind her.  
  
“All those doughnuts slowing you down?” Kate said with a grin as she ducked and rolled under some bullet fire as the cop gave up on physical combat and resorted to his side piece. Kate came to a stop right in front of him, kicking out her leg and knocking him down - right into her fist.  
  
The cop grunted and rolled to the side, losing his piece. Kate made a quick grab for it; given this was a dream she didn’t hesitate putting two in the cop’s chest before whirling around and seeing that her old CO had John in a headlock with a gun pointed next to his head.  
  
“Don’t shoot or I’ll-” the CO began to say, right before a bullet planted itself between his eyes and he collapsed to the ground. John stood there for a moment, in shock and his ears likely ringing like hell.  
  
“Thanks.” He said quietly and then, more confidently, “Let’s strip their supplies, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here.” He was already bending over the commanding officer and going through his pockets. Kate paused for a moment.  
  
“That wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it might be.” Kate said as she backed away towards the police officer. John didn’t turn to look at her, instead checking the ammo on the gun he jacked from the army guy.  
  
“I would hope it wasn’t. You’re not a killer.” John said, pausing as if he were rethinking his words, “I mean that in a good way.” He followed up, a little unconfidently.  
  
“That’s good, I guess.” Kate said mostly to herself as she also stripped the police officer of his gear. They both met in the middle where Morpheus had brought them. With a shrug they picked a direction and began walking - hopefully this didn’t prove fruitless.  
  
“Any idea what the hell this is?” John asked as he tucked gun in the shoulder holster he had nabbed from the army officer. Kate was quiet for a moment, wracking her brain with all the information that Hippolyta had provided her about Ares’s minions.  
  
“There was a Morpheus - a long time ago. The Master of Dreams, kind of like this guy. But he’s older; you could call him a god if you believed in that stuff. But this guy doesn’t seem like Morpheus.” Kate explained quickly as in the distance a mountain began to appear out of the black mist that previously surrounded them.  
  
“Why’s that?” John asked as they paused. Lacking a pair binoculars, he formed a circle with his hand and held it up to his eye to get a better look at the mountain.  
  
“Well, for one Morpheus was made entirely gold. Plus he hated Ares. People can’t dream when they’re dead.” Kate said with a shrug as the two began a quick sprint towards the mountain bottom.  
  
“That’s right, he just had the hand. If he’s just using it like a weapon, I imagine it works a bit like my ring.” John said breathily as they reached the bottom of the mountain - John didn’t waste time jumping up onto the nearest rock and begin climbing up. Kate withheld a groan as she wished for her powers back and made a much shorter jump and began climbing as well.  
  
“Meaning?” She asked as they paused on a terrace. John looked up again, once again using the hand trick to get a better view.  
  
“Well, this type of stuff seems to require a good deal of focus. If we can get him to lose focus - well we might be able to get out of here.” John explained. Kate nodded, starting to get the gist.  
  
“He might be able to only focus on one person at a time, hence why he left us in the outskirts.” Kate replied, taking the lead now as she jumped up onto a nearby rock. John followed behind.  
  
“It did seem a bit too easy to get out of. I guess this means more trouble ahead?” He asked. At that moment a rock came out of the cliffside, causing Kate to lose her grasp for a second. She held on with one arm for a moment before forcing herself up again.  
  
“I hope not.” She said, breathlessly.  
  
There was a pause in conversation as the duo completed their climb of the cliff-face.  
  
“That guy you fought - he tried to arrest me while I was still in basic. A couple of guys and I went out for some drinks, I got into a fight and almost got arrested. Luckily my friends bailed me out.” John explained, conversationally. Kate smiled.  
  
“That’s very nice of them. Can’t say I experienced the same camaraderie when I was in the military.” Kate replied. There was a pause.  
  
“Iraq?” He asked, simply.  
  
“Afghanistan.” She responded. He grunted in response, probably recalling his own experience in what soldiers termed “the Sandbox”.  
  
“You’ve seen combat.” John replied; it wasn’t a question. Kate nodded and the two strafed sideways towards a rather largish rock : in the distance was a castle.  
  
“A castle!? Could this guy be more cliche?” Kate scoffed. For his part, John was blank-faced.  
  
“I wish I had my ring.” He replied simply. Kate nodded solemnly, and the duo continued their trek across the Wasteland of Wesley Dodd’s Mind. **  
  
**Africa**  
  
** “I wish John and Kate were here.” Oliver said with a grunt as he took cover behind a burnt out hunk of metal that was their car - prior to a rocket launcher hitting it. Oliver felt alive, despite his complaining to the contrary.  
  
“Eris!” Oliver heard Flamebird hiss over the comm. He peeked above the edge of the van across the courtyard, where Harley had launched herself from the cover she had found by a nearby rock into the center of a group of armed goons.  
  
At first glance one might compare her movements to a ballerina - at least until the teeth started flying. Harley spun in a circle, her bat slamming into jaws, knees, elbows, gun barrels all around her while Oliver and Lucy provided cover fire from their spots (smartly) in cover. Harley’s entrance, as always, served to severely confuse the attackers as they began to come under fire from all sides.  
  
Soon their discipline broke and a few of them began running back towards the nearby compound which Mr. Zavimbe had generously identified as the compound responsible for the creation of Titan’s Blood.  
  
“You better run!” Eris yelled at the retreating men as Oliver and Lucy came alongside her and took the easy shots at the backs of the fleeing soldiers.  
  
“Let’s go!” Oliver said as he began to move forward followed closely by Harley who didn’t need much motivation to attack.  
  
“Wait!” Lucy called the group to a stop - Harley nearly barreled into Oliver as the two skidded to a stop. Lucy was standing over a few of the downed soldiers and though her mask was on it was clear that something about them concerned her. She motioned to one of the rifles on the ground - or rather one of the many identical rifles that all of the men carried.  
  
“These are SA80s Oliver.” She said, as if that explained everything. When Harley and Oliver continued to look at her with confusion on their faces, she sighed.  
  
“Most of the rogue groups in Africa carry AK-47’s bought wholesale after the fall of the USSR. But these guys are carrying SA80s - the official assault rifle of the United Kingdom… and all of the other British affiliated countries.” She looked back up at them, and recognition began to dawn on Oliver’s face. He hadn’t given much thought that they had crossed an international border to get from Zavimbe’s compound to here.  
  
“The EAF.” Oliver replied, while Lucy nodded.  
  
“The who?” Harley offered.  
  
“East African Federation. Former British colony that gained independence in the 1980s. The guys who are currently trying to make a deal with Zaire to join the Lane Pact.” Oliver explained quickly before turning to Lucy.  
  
“Good find, Flamebird. But regardless of who's peddling the Titan’s Blood, we’ve gotta get into that compound before they can extract their supplies.” He said before turning and running right towards the compound. Harley looked at Lucy for a second before reluctantly following behind him. Finally Lucy shrugged.  
  
“Well I guess I always wanted to be apart of an international incident.” She said sarcastically as she followed the other two. **  
**  
Nightmare Castle**  
  
** “Wow, the Russians have gotten quite creative.” Jacob Kane said from where he was tied up to an old style torture rack. Wesley Dodds paced in front of him, absentmindedly rubbing the gold gauntlet that occupied one of his arms. Jacob eyed the object carefully.  
  
“Where’d you lose it?” He asked, sympathetically. Dodds turned to look at him, smirking annoyingly.  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He said and he reached out and touched Jacob’s forehead with the object. Jacob’s eyes rolled back into his head, revealing the whites of his eyes as he began to convulse in a seizure like fashion. He continued his pacing.  
  
“Have you seen Inception? That old flick starring Julie Madison and Will Smith?” Dodds said to no one in particular, as Jacob was currently preoccupied reliving his first time in combat in the Colombian War - and when he saw his first dismemberment.  
  
“My Nightmare Realm works along the same principles as dreams in that film - there are layers of the mind, each one more fantastical and occupying shorter moments of time. Usually I only find one victim - in this case that would be you. Then I take them directly to the farthest level and let their deepest nightmares consume them. By the time we come back to the surface, they have lived millenia of torture in a millisecond….” Dodds trailed off as Jacob slowly stopped convulsing and returned to his present mental state - he was sweating profusely, his eyes darting around everywhere.  
  
“This is not good, not good at all. Your daughter and her friend have stretched my abilities. They must be removed for us to truly begin.” Dodds explained as he continued to rub his hand. Jacob slowly realized that there was shimmer of gold before him, slowly formalizing into something… familiar. Dodds chuckled.  
  
“My… daughter?” Jacob whispered to himself while Dodds pointed towards the shimmering object. There was the sound of a thunder crack, and suddenly a glowing orb appeared in the room.  
  
“This… this is delicious.” Dodds said as he turned towards Jacob and pointed excitedly at the orb which contained a floating green ring and what appeared to be glowing armor reminiscent of Hoplites.  
  
“Why kill them when they can kill each other?” Dodds cackled as Jacob tried to gain his bearings, once again testing the shackles chaining him to the torture rack. Dodds smiled as he once again reached for Jacob’s forehead.  
  
He didn’t have time to scream.

 **East Africa**  
  
The inside of the compound was a lot less heavily guarded, at least upon first appearance. Soon, however, the gang found that there were multiple soldiers armed with Titan’s Blood. Currently Lucy found herself stuck on the other side of the room as Green Arrow and Eris weaved in and out of stone columns.  
  
They were on the run from Titan’s Blood powered goons, having to use their speed in lieu of their usual strength advantage over normal mooks. With any luck, they would be able to trick the fools into accidentally hitting each other - or a column and subsequently being buried under a pile of rubble. On Lucy’s side of the room, she saw what she could definitely identify as a lab slowly disappearing behind a mechanical door.  
  
“Flamebird!” Oliver said angrily over the comms even as Lucy began sprinting across the room towards it, darting around a single mook and sliding towards the closing door. There was no time for her to wait for the others, and she feared that critical evidence would be destroyed if she didn’t act quickly. Besides, Lucy could handle herself.  
  
She came gliding into the room, using her momentum to flip a metal table just in time to avoid a quick spray of assault rifle fire. The bullets pinged uselessly off of the metal and Lucy looked to a nearby gleaming metal waste bin to get a lay of the room. With a forced calm she pulled out her taser, setting it to a rarely used lethal setting and jumping up just as a Titan powered goon slammed into the metal table and sent it careening into the wall.  
  
Flamebird floated over the table like an acrobat, landing on the henchman and delivering a shock straight to his jugular. While a normal man would’ve died from the voltage, this empowered fellow simply went limp as his muscles numbed and he teetered on the edge of consciousness. Flamebird pressed the advantage as she hid behind the man’s large frame, picking him up with her own considerable muscles and using him as a human shield against further assault rifle fire as she trekked across the room.  
  
Once she got as far as she felt comfortable, Flamebird picked a grenade off of the man’s utility belt and lobbed it at her attackers. A few dove to the side, while those who were more confident in their borrowed abilities simply stood and tanked the blast. Or at least they tried. The grenade didn’t kill anyone, but the few who were too dumb to move got launched against a nearby stone wall and knocked out cold.  
  
“Flameb-” Oliver’s voice crackled over the comm which seemed to be bugging out. Apparently this room had some dampeners on communications, which lent more to Lucy’s suspicion that this was where the important stuff was at. She dropped the body she was holding, grinning as she saw that for a moment she held the field - the other mooks had temporarily taken cover.  
  
Flamebird didn’t wait for the tide to shift, though - she floated over one of the covers and delivered another shock to a man’s neck, before spinning around and using her distance attachment to launch similar shock to the other guy. Now she was finally alone.  
  
Or so she thought. Flamebird’s eyes darted up as a slow clap began to echo through the room. She looked up to see a tall, powerful looking raven haired woman step out of what appeared to be the door to a freezer. The woman gave a grin which Flamebird would’ve associated with her more sadistic foes back in Afghanistan - she recognized it clearly enough as bloodlust.  
  
“Very impressive, I must say.” The woman said with that same grin on her face.  
**  
Nightmare Realm**  
  
John and Kate had made it to the front entrance of the castle when suddenly Dodd’s appeared once more before them. Though neither were armed, they brought to bear the few weapons they had and glared at the floating demon man like they could possibly fight him. Dodd’s just chuckled at the cuteness as he floated to the ground before them.  
  
“Did you come to surrender?” Kate asked with a false grin - inside she was terrified at the prospect of her father being caught in this hell, of never getting to talk to him again after being away for so long. Dodd’s smirked annoyingly, raising a hand to halt the duo.  
  
“Marines don’t surrender, ma’am.” Dodds said almost warmly, “They also don’t lie, cheat, or steal.” Dodds paused as Kate felt a shudder come up her spine as a bad memory suddenly assaulted her. John looked in her direction, a concerned look on his face.  
  
“Kate?” John asked quietly. Dodds chuckled.  
  
“Don’t worry about her, Sergeant. I’m afraid you’re the one who has been lying. Breaking the code.” Dodds said. For some reason Kate was suddenly thinking of the woman who had outed her to her commander - how she had wanted to wring that woman’s neck. But she had to sit there and take the discharge, in order to protect her girlfriend at the time.  
  
“I’m not really in the mood for mind games, Dodds.” John said with a scowl on your face. Dodds began circling the two, although he didn’t appear to hold any weapons.  
  
“Really? Because it seems you’re quite fond of them. For example, you haven’t told Ms. Kane here what you know. What you’ve always known.” Dodds said. Suddenly the fog of Kate’s mind seemed to clear, she turned and looked at John now with concern on her own face.  
  
“John, what is he talking about?” Kate asked. John didn’t answer, merely charging at Dodds and attempting to grab him by the throat. He simply passed right through the other man, landing hard on the wood of the drawbridge and nearly catapulting into the depths below that one would guess was supposed to resemble a moat.  
  
“Not keen on sharing, eh Sargent?” Dodds said as he grabbed John and pulled him up. John struggling on Dodds’ grasp, but as the golden metal hand clasped around his throat he felt something stirring inside of him. Suddenly Kate felt herself catapulted into John’s mind - despite everything else, she was sure it was his, not an illusion. She could feel it.  
  
She saw an image of John, noticeably younger but only by a few years. He was sitting in an office. As Kate slowly became more aware of her surroundings she saw that it was her own father sitting across the desk from her. She saw clearly her own picture on Jacob’s desk.  
  
“Even after everything?” She thought to herself as the scene around her shifted radically, this time to her and John’s first meeting. From the perspective of John’s head, she saw him recognize her, calculate. Things shifted again, this time to a steam filled bathroom - not a true memory, but a representation of John’s thought process as he stared at his smokey reflection in the mirror.  
  
“If I tell Jacob she’s alive, maybe he would reinstate me!” John was saying to himself, although it was clear he hesitated the next moment. He slammed his fist into the mirror, breaking it and the memory space into a thousand pieces.  
  
“Coward!” Echoed throughout the black void Kate momentarily felt herself fall into.  
  
“Maybe if I convince her to talk to him herself - yeah, that’s better.” This version of John was smaller, a thin boy who looked undernourished as he stared at himself in a pond. Below the water, a pair of glowing yellow eyes stared back up at him and by extension Kate.  
  
She once again found herself back in her CO’s office on that fateful date. She felt the same anxiety she felt then, her fear. But things were different. The office was both her father’s office back at home and simultaneously her CO’s office. The man behind the desk was both her CO and her father in that strange way that only dreams can unite disparate memories into a cohesive experience.  
  
“Ms. Kane, I’ve received a troubling bit of information from a Sergeant Stewart. It appears you’ve been hiding from us. You’ve abandoned your post, your family.” Jacob was standing up now, his eyes glowing yellow just like the beast in the water that had been watching John.  
  
“Why do you hate us!” Jacob yelled in a demonic voice, “Why are you such a failure!” The impression from the memory was too strong - despite Kate’s best attempts to guard her mind against it, she felt it occupying every part of her being. She felt a rage building inside of her.  
  
“How dare John reveal your secret?” Dodds whispered to Kate, taking on the form of Harley. Things stopped, a blackness seeming to fill the area as only “Harley” was left standing before Kate.  
  
“He wants to take me away from you. You can’t trust him…” Harley seemed to say even as she faded, flipped, and rotated all throughout Kate’s vision. She felt she must be going insane. And yet her fists clenched.  
  
“You!” She said as she found herself back in the castle drawbridge. She felt the familiar comfort of her gauntlets as her fists clenched, the ever present weight of the weapons on her back. Her lungs filled with air, her chest heaved with incredible strength that she had forgotten herself capable of.  
  
Athene was back, and she was pissed. John looked up from the ground, his own face grim as his Green Lantern uniform appeared around him. He stood up, anger in his own eyes.  
  
“You’ll always be an outsider; they’ll never accept you!” John heard in his own ears - the voice of his mother as he shipped off to the military. Though he would never admit it, her words had scared him more than he had thought capable. The checks he routinely sent back home did little to assuage his lack of a sense of belonging with his primarily white unit.  
  
They launched at each other, more in control of themselves than either would like to admit. Dodds floated above, smiling at himself. Though he was not shy to admit the genuine power in his abilities to pit them against each other, he could not have done so without the tension that had already been present between the two.  
**  
East Africa**  
  
“Would you like to know where Titan’s Blood comes from?” Diana said as she sashayed across the room calmly, despite Lucy’s taser being planted firmly on her shoulder. She just smiled as she pulled the weapon from Lucy’s hands and crushed it, walking past the other woman and towards a group of bags in the corner.  
  
“Go to hell.” Lucy replied fiercely, although she was already thinking of other ways to go after Diana. The other woman just paused next to the set of bags, which Lucy assumed was Titan’s Blood. Diana reached for a nearby syringe, causing Lucy to back up and bring her fists to bear - today was not her day to die. At least not without a fight.  
  
“It comes from me.” Diana said, ignoring Lucy as she stuck the syringe into her arm. Lucy’s blood went cold as she saw the blood come from Diana’s arm and into the bag - which looked identical to the other’s on the table. Diana smirked.  
  
“If I get out of this, I swear I’m taking Power Woman with me everywhere.” Lucy thought to herself. She flinched as Diana tossed the bag she had just filled across the room. Diana made a dramatic yawn.  
  
“Take it if you need a pick me up. I wouldn’t want to have an unfair advantage. Not that it would help you much.” Diana said proudly as Lucy looked down at the bag that she had caught in her hands. Flamebird reached into her utility belt, slowly pulled the large knife that she kept hidden on her costume. Diana smiled at her.  
  
“Well, I guess if you want to go quickly.” Diana said as she began walking towards Flamebird. A moment later, as if the powers that be knew the most dramatic moment to act, the wall caved in as a fierce explosion rocketed through the doorway and something heavy hit Diana in the side, launching her against the nearby wall, out of it, and into the courtyard outside.  
  
“Heya toots!” Eris said as she hopped from the hole in the wall she had just made, holding a rocket launcher with a still smoking barrel. Green Arrow appeared next to her, his face grim.  
  
“That was very dangerous.” He deadpanned.  
  
“And awesome!” Harley replied even as the two swooped towards the still shocked Lucy and grabbed her, leading her towards the exit. Lucy forced them to stop at the “door” that Harley had made. She gestured towards the table behind them.  
  
“The Titans Blood!” She said. Oliver nodded, pulling an arrow from his sling. They could see through the second hole in the room that Diana was pulling herself out of the rubble, wiping a small bit of blood from her lip with a joyful smile.  
  
Oliver let the arrow loose, igniting the entire room with napalm in moments. The trio then ran for their lives, quite literally. They didn’t stop to look back until their jeep had careened over the border back into Zaire.  
  
It wasn’t until they got back to Mr. Zavimbe’s compound that Lucy realized that she was still holding the bag of Titan’s Blood that Diana had thrown to her.  
  
“You think Lex can get a look at this?” She asked.  
**  
The Nightmare Realm**  
  
“This is quite interesting.” Dodds said as he tapped what looked like a steam powered computer screen in the corner of his torture room. It was hooked up to Jacob Kane’s forehead, with another line connecting to the glowing gauntlet that had replaced one of Dodds’ fists.  
  
The image on the screen had begun to shift, from memories of war past to something even more terrifying - wars future. All of them featured Kate very prominently and also Jacob very powerless. It was not an uncommon nightmare; but it added a new layer to Dodds’s work as he remembered the mission given to him by Ares.  
  
He tenderly removed the gauntlet, taking a moment to stare at the stump where his arm used to be. Despite his self control, he felt a shiver go up his spine. With a gulp he tapped a nearby button, and summoned Ares to his castle.  
  
Down below, Athene crashed down on Green Lantern; hard. With superpowered force her sword completely shattered the green light construct that John had created to defend himself. He rolled the to side, conjuring a hardlight sniper rifle and taking three shots in quick succession, crumpling in pieces of Athene’s armor as she followed after him.  
  
John yelled in anger, his ring flashing a brilliant red as a spiked object appeared above the fighting duo and fell down like a rockslide. Athene took the brunt of the blow, the spikes stabbing into exposed skin and once again damaging bits of armor as she essentially acted as a shield to protect John from his own attack.  
  
With a groan Athene brought her knee up quickly, hitting John in the balls and sending him flying out of the contraption towards a nearby edge. He fell over, grabbing onto the edge for dear life. Athene followed right after him, sword and shield left behind as she saw red. John looked up at her from where he was hanging, helpless.  
  
“Athene!” He tried to yell as Athene put her boot down on one of John’s hands, forcing him to let go of the cliff edge. John hung precariously by one hand, but he used to the other to point at the castle.  
  
“Kate!” He tried again. Athene allowed herself to be distracted, glancing at the castle and seeing a man standing on a terrace up above. He was smiled, his arms folded proudly at chest level. Even though she had never met him before, Athene instantly recognized Ares.  
  
“You.” She muttered to herself as dust gathered around her feet. Moments later she launched into the air, going up so fast and easily as to give the effect of flying. She began to arc downwards towards the top of the castle, landing on the terrace. When she arrived, Ares was gone, but Dodds’ was there.  
  
With a quick flourish Athene brought her hand down, severing the golden fist from it’s connection to Dodds’s amputated arm. He looked up at her in surprise as she used her other hand to grab him around the throat and lift him into the air.  
  
“Release my father!” She said, breathing heavily as she realized that the area around them had not reverted back to the convention center - she was still stuck in the Nightmare Realm. She looked behind her and saw that the gauntlet had disappeared and reappeared on Dodds’ arm. Of course she couldn’t separate it - this world wasn’t real. Still, she seemed to have him at a disadvantage.  
  
“Somebody’s got to atone. Pay for their sins. Daddy here’s done quite a lot. Now if you wanted to offer up someone like, oh, I don’t know, yourself, I’m sure Ares would oblige.” Dodds’ replied with a grin. Kate stared at him for a moment, her mind still partially swimming in the altered memories that Dodds had subjected her to.  
  
“Take the Lantern.” She said as she stalked past Dodds, ripping the cords out of Jacob’s torture rack and slinging his unconscious body over her shoulder. Dodds stood in the corner, scratching his head.  
  
“W-what?” He paused, re-gathering his villainous front, “I- I suppose that will suffice.” And with that Dodds motioned to the darkened sky above. There was a flash of light, and a portal ripped the sky open. With a flourish, Athene launched herself into the sky once more.  
**  
Zavimbe Compound, Zaire**  
  
“They’re pretty shaken up.” Oliver said, leaning back on the couch in the center of the Zavimbe compound. David placed a comforting hand on Oliver’s shoulder.  
  
“You look a little beat yourself.” David said. Close by, Lex was hard at work with his temporary chemistry station, which had lifted itself out of his briefcase using advanced hydraulics.  
  
“Oliver will be fine - right Ollie?” Lex said without looking at the two. David looked after Lex with a small scowl, before returning his gaze to Oliver.  
  
“Ms. Lane said they were carrying SA-80s.” He said; not a question, just a matter of fact. Oliver nodded slowly, wiping a bead of sweat off of his brow.  
  
“And there were photos - of the President… your brother.” Oliver continued. David nodded, leaning back and smiling.  
  
“A frame job. He wants to destroy the alliance between us and the East Africans.” David responded, as if he had just discovered some great secret. Oliver looked at him.  
  
“Are you so sure?” Oliver began. There was a pause.  
  
“What Oliver means to say, Mr. Zavimbe, is that it would not be beyond Ares to use a group of humans to his advantage… or vice versa. This might not be a frame job.” Lex explained, once again without looking up from his chemistry station. David shook his head.  
  
“I know Mari. She is above reproach.” David began. He saw that Oliver still looked skeptical, “You have to trust your ujamma, Oliver.”  
  
“Ujamma?” Lex asked, curious.  
  
“It means family.” Oliver explained, as a meaningful look passed between him and David. Lex scoffed, spinning around in his chair.  
  
“Well, in case the Goddess isn’t halted by your wonderful Lilo and Stitch impersonation, I think this should do the trick quite nicely.” Lex said as he held up a vial. Oliver stood up, smiling and grabbing the bottle.  
  
“This will deactivate her powers?” Oliver asked excitedly. Lex shook his head, smiling in utter pride.  
  
“It’ll do you one better - give you the same powers.” Lex explained. Oliver’s face fell, he tried to hand the bottle back to Lex.  
  
“I’m not taking Titan’s Blood.” He said as he thought of the other goons he had seen take it. Weak men. Scared men. Not like Oliver. Lex shook his head.  
  
“Not Titan’s Blood. Better. Something I was already working on but that Titan’s Blood provided the final key to. I call it Miraclo. It will only last an hour, but it will give you incredible strength.” Lex explained, failing to mention that it was based upon research that he had stolen from Professor Ivy and his own father following the aftermath of the battle with the League of Assassins.  
  
“This sounds dangerous, Oliver.” David said gravely from the spot on his couch. Oliver looked back and forth between Lex and David; but he knew his decision was already made for him.

 **Nightmare Realm**  
  
“Looks like you’ve been abandoned.” Dodds’ said with a sly grin as John woke to find himself strapped to the same table that Jacob Kane had previously been occupying. John struggled for a moment, but found that he was unable to move or conjure any hardlight structures. Behind Dodds he could see his ring sitting calmly on a shelf, it’s color fluctuating wildly.  
  
“I must say, I’ve outdone myself this time. Even I was surprised that the Amazon left you behind.” Dodds said with a grin. He held the Green Lantern ring in his hand, allowing it to fluctuate through the emotional spectrum until it faded to a calm bluish color that John had never seen it do before.  
  
“Hope is the great poison of the world. Allowing men to strive in their chains without ever resigning themselves to their conditions.” Dodds paced around the torture rack, a small grin on his face.  
  
“I can tell you haven’t seen this particular part of your ring before. A man without hope. I love it, personally.” Dodds slowly removed the golden gauntlet, and the ring conjured a real hand in it’s place. Dodds turned the hand over and over, admiring it for a moment. Then the “hand” turned yellow and faded into nothingness. Dodds glared at John.  
  
“One must suffer, for Ares purposes. I was hoping to bend Athene’s hope into our own ends. But a man such as you, with that deep sadness?” Dodds paused, “The one you won’t tell anyone else about? That will serve us just as well.” Dodds reached a hand out to John’s forehead, and he screamed.  
  
Up above the castle, Kate paused on the edge of the portal as she unceremoniously tossed her father’s limp form through, sending him back to the “real world”.  
  
A pause, as a million thoughts and feelings ran through her head. Then, she launched herself away from the portal, back into the castle. Dodds didn’t see her coming as she flew into his side, launching him into the wall in the side of the room.  
  
Dodds chuckled bitterly as he pulled himself out of the rubble, while Athene released John from his bonds with a simple swipe of her sword. He gave her a wide eyed look.  
  
“No soldier left behind.” She said simply, with a calm smile as John limped over to where his ring had fallen on the floor.  
  
“It’s impossible to leave, Athene. The gauntlet requires suffering to work. Someone has to stay here for anyone else to leave. You’re right back where you started.” Dodds said as he pulled himself up, wiping a bit of blood from his nose using his stump arm.  
  
“Then you suffer.” John said, from where he was leaning on Athene for support. She gave John a look, but didn’t say anything. Dodds looked back and forth at them, something slowly dawning on his face.  
  
“You are a disgrace.” John said, although he might not’ve been talking to Dodds, but himself, “You’ve let your fear rule you. You deserve it.” John almost spat at Dodds, who looked down at himself. Suddenly the room started to disappear.  
**  
East Africa**  
  
“I think that’s her coming up.” Flamebird said over the comms. Green Arrow was positioned high above the square, where Presidents Zavimbe and McCabe were giving speeches concerning their mutual cooperation and entrance into the Lane Pact. Oliver followed Lucy’s directions, spotting a woman in the crowd wearing a hijab and approaching the stage slowly through the crowd. She was tall, taller than most of the others.  
  
“Not very subtle, toots.” Harley’s voice came over the comms as well, punctuated by the sound of a bubble popping. Oliver nodded grimly - since they had eliminated her comrades at the camp, Diana was in East Africa alone. But that didn’t make her any less dangerous.  
  
“Allow my men a chance to handle this.” David’s voice joined the trio on the comms. Though Lex had been against it, the President’s brother had been cut into their comm line to allow them to coordinate with the President’s security detail. David was sitting just behind the two Presidents, smiling and waving - you couldn’t even tell he was also talking to the Infinity team at the same time.  
  
“She’s drawing her sword!” Lucy hissed over the comm, narrating what Oliver already saw - the hijab wearing woman brandishing a sword from within her cloak which then fell to the wayside. It was certainly Diana, standing at nearly six feet tall and raven hair waving in the bitter breeze of the morning.  
  
“For too long, Zaire has collaborated with the Imperialists. But I will not let them shackle the homeland once more!” Diana announced to the crowd in perfect Swahili. She didn’t get to say much more before the President’s security detail opened fire; people had already been giving her a wide berth when she drew her sword. When shots began ringing out, the crowd screamed and dove away.  
  
Unfortunately for the guards, Diana was not vulnerable to bullets in the slightest. She raised a hand from her cloak, producing a metal gauntlet that caught the bullets like a heavy duty magnet and then launched them back towards the stage. Already the two Presidents were being whisked away, while David was standly boldly in the center stage directing his security detail.  
  
“She’s toying with them.” Oliver said in disgust as he saw Diana slowly approaching the stage. Now was the time to act. He fired a grappling hook from his bow, creating a line right over the square that was already clearing out. He slid over the square, dropping off right behind Diana and quickly slinging another bow.  
  
Diana turned around just in time for a sonic weapon to go off near her as the weapon rang in her ears. She scowled at Oliver, perfectly lining up his second trick arrow - something akin to a flashbang which then blinded the demigoddess. Now with a little bit of time, Oliver closed the remaining distance between the two of them.  
  
But Diana was a seasoned warrior; she thrust her sword out in the direction Oliver had been coming from. He narrowly dove to the right, but the shift in the air gave Diana a moment to swing the sword around. With little time to think, Oliver flipped his bow around and caught the sword inside the enhanced string, which thankfully didn’t break as Oliver managed to leverage the sword out of Diana’s hands and send careening across the yard.  
  
Oliver gave Diana a sly grin as her vision came back - but he celebrated too soon. The demigoddess thrust out her palm, faster and harder than Oliver could’ve prepared for. There was a crunching sound as she impacted his ribs and sent him flying across the yard, slamming into a nearby brick wall.  
  
“Fucking hell.” Oliver grunted as he rolled on the ground, clutching his sides and bleeding from the mouth. Meanwhile, Flamebird and Eris converged on Diana in the yard before she could pursue after the President’s detail any further.  
  
Flamebird entered first, delivering her best kick to the side of Diana’s head. Diana blocked the second blow, and with an angry scowl tried to swipe at Flamebird’s midsection in return. The veteran dove to the side, just as Eris flew up the middle of Diana’s field of vision and delivered a sickening knee right to Diana’s stomach and sending the woman back a few feet.  
  
Flamebird jumped right back into the action, jamming her taser right into Diana’s arm - her voltage was set to the never used kill setting, which might as well have been a mild numbing effect for people like Diana who grabbed Flamebird’s taser holding arm and flipped her over her head, dislodging the bone in her arm and slamming her into the ground.  
  
Unafraid, Eris launched herself onto Diana’s back, bringing her signature baseball bat down on the demigoddess’s head once, twice, three times before Diana bucked her shoulders back and launched Eris off, sending her bat flying. Diana followed up, crouching over Eris’s prone form and grabbing her by the neck.  
  
“That all you got? My grandma chokes harder… than…” Harley bravely tried to quip even as Diana crushed her windpipe and took all of the breath from her lungs. That might well have been her last words, had it not been for a well placed punch to Diana’s side. While she didn’t fly forward or turn to mush as one usually would, Diana did move forward a few feet. She turned around, anger in her eyes as David Zavimbe stood in the square, steam leaking out of the heavy gauntlet on his right hand. He gave a calm shrug to the demigoddess and brought the gauntlet up to bear as she launched at him.  
  
Diana’s fist hit the gauntlet at an angle, surprisingly sliding off instead of crushing David’s arm. His left hand came around for an uppercut that might’ve damaged Diana, but she hopped backwards, backflipping quite a ways from David. The three vigilantes were all on the ground clutching various wounds, looking in surprise at Zavimbe as he faced off against the demigoddess who had now retrieved her sword.  
  
“Your mission has failed, Daughter of War. My brother and Mari are in a safe place by now.” David told her in Swahili. Diana breathed for a moment, catching her breath after wrecking multiple badass normals. Finally a grin crossed her face.  
  
“I didn’t come for them.” She said. Oliver didn’t have time to scream as he saw Diana launch her sword across the yard like a spear. David’s eyes went wide as he brought his gauntlet to bear - the sword pierced through it, his arm, and his chest. He ceased breathing and fell to the ground, coughing up blood.  
  
After a moment’s peace, Diana walked across the yard and pulled the sword out of David’s chest. She looked around at the heroes, all battered and fallen. And then she left, practically skipping out of the yard like a schoolgirl.  
  
**Gotham City**  
  
Kate felt the wind whip through her hair as the nightmare world evaporated, Dodds stumbling backwards with a howl of rage and denial. Lights flared into being above her, and Ares’s lieutenant screamed again, falling to one knee.   
  
“It’s over, Dodds!” John growled. “Stand down.”   
  
“Never!” The older man got to his feet unsteadily, his remaining hand shaking. “I’ll just have to destroy you here, I’ll prove to Ares that I’m strong. I’m not afraid!” His voice shook. “I’m not afraid!” he screamed again.   
  
Someone tapped on his shoulder. “Excuse me, son, do you have the time?”   
  
Dodds turned in confusion, and Audie Leon Murphy socked him on the jaw. Ares’ lieutenant flew backwards and crashed to the ground across the room; he tried to stand, but collapsed again with a groan of pain.   
  
“Hmph. Must be losing my touch,” the white-haired super commented. “West, Snow, secure that man and get him ready for questioning.” He turned to Athene and Green Lantern. “Good work, you two. I presume you’re responsible for breaking down that man’s hallucination powers?”   
  
“In a way, yes, sir,” John replied, standing straighter by sheer instinct.   
  
“Good work. I’ll get the President, if you can see to the woun--”   
  
“He’s got a gun!” Three heads snapped across the room, to where Dodds had pulled a Desert Eagle from somewhere under his cloak. Murphy was across the room in a single bound, but pulled up short as Dodds pointed the gun at himself.   
  
“Son, don’t do this.” His voice was calm and steady. “I know you’ve done some bad things, but this isn’t the way.”   
  
Dodds shook his head, the barrel of the gun pressing against his temple. “It’s the only way,” he wept. “I can’t be afraid. I can’t. Without the nightmare realm I’m nothing.” He shook his head again. “I won’t be nothing.”   
  
There was a sound of thunder. John felt something dark jolt through him as Dodds fell to the ground. Something in the man’s words had been too familiar…  
  
“Damn it,” Murphy growled. “We could’ve helped you, you poor bastard.”   
  
Kate supported John as they approached the scene, John’s knees shaking a bit as he walked. Dodds lay there like a puppet whose strings had been cut, a fan of blood across the wall. His eyes were closed, thankfully, and with his jacket open she could see a Purple Heart, a Bronze Star, and a dozen other ribbons and medals that he’d hidden underneath.  
  
“Get him out of here, boys.” Major Murphy said with a shake of his head as he turned back to John and Kate.  
  
“I think that the President would like an explanation, but first we need to see to any wounded. Lend me a hand?” Audie asked the two heroes.  
  
Kate shook her head in shock, then nodded. “Uh, yes, sir.” She grabbed John’s shoulder and shook him gently. “You good?”   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” The Green Lantern couldn’t resist a chuckle, one that was perhaps too happy sounding given what they had just seen. “I’ll help Murphy, you want to check on your--on Kane?”   
  
“On it.” Kate said as she turned to where her father was pulling himself up from the other side of the stage - the Medal of Honor still clutched proudly to his chest. When he saw Kate his eyes went wide.  
  
And then slowly, the rare smile came across his face.  
**  
Infinity Tower**  
  
The Africa team rode home in silence. Lex had considered telling Oliver he should’ve used the formula he had given him: but sometimes Lex was capable of social awareness, however rarely that happened. Most of them would be fine, between the resources of STAR Labs and the Amazons, the most lasting effects would be a severely damaged ego.  
  
Harley was happy to see that John and Kate had arrived back at Infinity Tower shortly before they did. She quickly disappeared into the room she shared with Kate. Frankly, Oliver didn’t blame her. He parked himself at the bar and started to pour himself a glass of whiskey while he cradled his ribcage. But for some reason, he couldn’t.  
  
“I got cocky out there. Thought I could handle it. And now David is dead.” Oliver thought to himself solemnly. Things were changing. He had known for a while, but he thought he could keep up. Sometimes he wasn’t so sure. And that latter feeling is what was strongest with him right now.  
  
“I can’t speak for Harley, but I’m not sure if this is a job for normal people anymore.” Oliver continued to think as he stood up, leaving the empty glass on the bar and heading upstairs towards John’s room. He remembered when they first met, battling on the Amazo. Back then, John had been just like him. But then he changed, gotten that damn ring and evened the odds.  
  
“That’s what this team needs.” Oliver thought as he approached John’s room, “I need to quit. Or at least take a sabbatical.”  
  
When Oliver reached John’s room, he found his friend sitting there staring at the wall. He was cleaning his service pistol, as Oliver knew he did every night. There was something in his eyes, though. There was a sick feeling in Oliver’s stomach and he forgot why he came here.  
  
“John?” He said carefully as he inched into the room. John looked up at him, his head darting as if responding to an intruder. Oliver took this cue to stay at the far side of the room.  
  
“Are you okay buddy?” He asked. A simple question, but sometimes that’s all it takes. John Stewart, US Marine and Agent of ARGUS, began crying fiercely. He was not an attractive crier, as those who are infrequent criers are typically not. His face scrunched up in anger and pain as he tried to cover his face in his hands.  
  
Oliver slowly inched his way across the room, to where he stood next to John. He eyed the service pistol wearily - an action which later caused him some shame - and carefully put his hand on John’s shoulder.  
  
“I’m weak!” John sputtered angrily through tears. Oliver shook his head - he hadn’t heard something so ridiculous in his entire life. He bent down so that he was eye to eye with John.  
  
“Hey… Hey man snap out of it!” Oliver said, fiercely. He tried to make eye contact, but John was averting. John stared at the corner.  
  
“I’ve tried… I just…” John thought anxiously of Wesley Dodds. How easy it was for him to end his pain. The desire to follow him was met with an even greater feeling of shame that threatened to break his human form in twain. Oliver ignored the awkwardness of the situation and wrapped his arms around the marine, bringing him into a tight hug.  
  
“I know, buddy, I know.” Oliver said. John began crying again, but he leaned into Oliver, the two hugging fiercely for support.  
  
“I don’t want to be sad anymore.” John said through tears. After some time, they separated, John sniffling and Oliver himself a little teary eyed. Oliver gave John a serious look.  
  
“Honestly? You might need professional help.” Oliver said carefully. John felt a million excuses come to his lips, but thankfully the look Oliver was giving him didn’t allow him to use any of them. After a tense moment, his shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh that felt like it had been stuck in his lungs for years.  
  
“Yeah, probably…” He said, shamefully. Oliver put a hand on John’s shoulder, a big smile crossing his face.  
  
“Honestly, man? I’m proud of you.” Oliver said, “It’s a huge step to look for help.” He continued. John just looked up at him, a bit of a weary smirk on his face.  
  
“Yeah, and what would you know about it? Billionaire playboy and all - your life is perfect.” John replied. Oliver stared at him for a second, perhaps processing his own feelings. Finally he shook his head.  
  
“Can you imagine the mental scarring left from spending five years trapped on an island?” Oliver said. There was a pause, but not a hostile one. Just room for thought.  
  
“You’re medicated?” John asked. Oliver just smiled, gesturing downwards to the Green Arrow costume he was still wearing.  
  
“Yeah, and probably not enough!” Oliver chuckled, “I also see a therapist twice a week.”  
  
John considered this for a moment. He couldn’t make himself ask the important question - thankfully Oliver didn’t need him to. He was already grabbing a notepad next to John’s bed and jotting down a name and phone number on it.  
  
“I pay quite a bit for her, but you can use her for free - she has special deals for veterans. I don’t want to push you into medicating - that’s your decision alone - but I definitely think you should pay her a visit.” Oliver said quickly as he handed the note to John. John scratched his head, suddenly feeling that he had been over-dramatic with the waterworks in the last few minutes - he was fine, right?  
  
“I don’t know…” John said quietly. Oliver gave him another a moment.  
  
“Well sleep on it. Is it okay if I ask you about it again tomorrow?” Oliver said, John looked up at him as if Oliver had just shot his dog, Oliver quickly backtracked, “Just between you and I. I won’t tell anybody.”  
  
John smiled, a soft but genuine smile. He gave Oliver one last hug.  
  
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” John said. Oliver held him tight.  
  
“Of course! You deserve to be happy, John.” Oliver said.  
  
John held back his thought of, “I don’t know if I am,” and took the compliment, smiling at his friend as Oliver inched back towards the door.  
  
“Ollie?” John asked, causing Oliver to pause at the door. Oliver stopped, turning his head.  
  
“Did you come up here to tell me something?” John asked. Oliver just chuckled, shrugging and shaking his head no. After a beat, Oliver left the room and shut the door behind him. Soon he had found his way back to the bar, where Barbara had suddenly appeared and filled both his glass and one of her own.  
  
“Long day at work?” She asked with a comforting smile as she handed Oliver his shot glass and toasted with him. Oliver downed the first shot with her and set it down on the bar with a clink.  
  
“Now that you mention it…” He began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand there it is! Hope you guys liked it. Tried to tackle some more serious issues with this one - namely veterans mental health and really mental health in general. It's extremely hard to get over that social barrier of feeling to a freak for needing to be on medication. The other thing I tried to tackle (and this is more of a general editorial thing) is that I'm tired of seeing mainsteam superheroes like Batman and the like completely lack any emotional intelligence, and quite often use women to do the emotional heavy lifting for them. 
> 
> I thought it would be a nice way to differentiate Green Arrow from Batman by giving him a high level of emotional intelligence, which is his real addition to the team.


	7. Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 by theg*ddam*hoi2fan on alternatehistory.com. This is the last one before the big crossover episode, world tensions are getting high. 
> 
> As a Malay-Thai border conflict heats up, British special-forces operatives mobilize to stop a mysterious terrorist from starting a third World War...

**Australian patrol vessel HMAS _Jigalong,_ Maritime Border between Malaysia and Thailand (ten nautical miles off the Kra Isthmus), July 3rd 2015, 01:00**  
  
“…repeat: Unidentified vessel, this is Australian warship  _Jigalong._ You are in violation of Malaysian territorial waters. Cut your engines and heave to immediately or we will fire into you. This is your final warning.”  
  
Lieutenant-Commander Greg Armitage sighed as he regarded the vessel in question through his night-vision. It didn’t really look like much: just some poor fisherman who’d blundered onto the wrong side of the border. But…unfortunately, things weren’t in favour of blunderers. With killings on both sides of the border, in the territories that remained under dispute between the Federation of Malaysian States and the Kingdom of Thailand, the political situation was getting more and more tense between both countries. And ever since 1958, the United Kingdom, Australia and New Zealand had pledged that in the event of ‘aggression directed against Malaysia or Singapore’, they would move to both nations’ defence…hence Armitage and the  _Jigalong,_ along with an array of bigger ships from the RN, RAN and RNZN being here.  
  
He sighed. It was inevitable, of course: even after independence, both Malaysia and Singapore had remained open to British-Australian interests: both nations had basing rights across the Malay Peninsula and Malaysian Borneo; and British and Australian corporations had made fortunes out of oil and mining rights, as well as the tech and trading sectors. They’d got rich from Malaysia…and now it was their turn to return the favour.  
  
“The ship’s stopping, sir,” he heard the XO – Lieutenant Charlie Webb – report.  
  
“So I see, XO. Get the rib prepped for boarding, get a few of the lads…” He paused. “Hold on. Look out beyond ‘em – is that something in the water?”  
  
Charlie followed his gaze. “Don’t see anything, sir.”  
  
“Looked like it was just beside that boat.” Yet Greg didn’t see anything now.  _Probably a shark or a dolphin or something._  
  
He turned back to watch the ship, as below orders were barked and men and women armed, put on flak-jackets made the rib ready for launch…  
  
There was a sudden rush of water, and a dark shape leapt from the sea, then landed on the deck. Then it lunged forward, slamming into the crew around the rib.  
  
Throughout, Greg had remained still. But then the screaming started, and he moved. “Intruders! All crew…”  
  
He experienced a moment of pure fear as the thing leapt, from a suddenly-still deck. Petty Officer Simmons had checked a rifle out for warning shots, and now he began firing, on full-auto, but the shape seemed to twist around the glowing lines of fire.  
  
Greg tried to dodge back, but the thing was too quick.  
  
The last things he saw were the claws descending, and the eyes burning green in the night.  
  
* * *  
  
**RAF Tengah, Singapore, 12th July 1956, 11:00**  
  
_“They call him the Tiger._ ”  _The Major giving the briefing indicated a series of photographs, chiefly showing the bodies of soldiers and civilians, all marked with the same horrendous claw-marks. “For rather obvious reasons.”_  
  
_Lieutenant James Davis - Royal Marine Commandos - and the other men in the small briefing room, refrained from laughter. Partly because of the seriousness of the situation, but mostly because many of the soldiers had clearly been unarmed and restrained when the claws went to work on them. And had taken some time in dying._  
  
_James’ eyes flickered over to the map of the Malay Peninsula that was displayed next to the photographs. The Emergency had been grinding on for nearly a decade now…but the British and Commonwealth forces were finally on the verge of victory. Between the steady efforts of regular forces trained at the Jungle Warfare School – both professionals and National Service lads – and the use of units like his, armed by Project PROSPERO, the Communists were being squeezed out of Malaya._  
  
_But the goings-on in Perak had the possibility of derailing that. Or at least prolonging the war._  
  
_Andrew Norris shoved the brim of his bush hat back. “What’s the story with him? Is he just a bandit with delusions of grandeur, or a real Commo?” he asked._  
  
_The Major sighed. “Unknown. He seems to cooperate with Communist units, but at the same time he’s managed to gain a deal more support among the Malays themselves in his territory than the Reds have managed up until now.”_  
  
_James nodded sourly at that. One of the many advantages that the Commonwealth had enjoyed up till now was that the Communists were primarily ethnic Chinese, a group cordially disliked by the Malays – something that the Communists had done nothing to dispel with their attacks on Malay plantation workers and nobles. For their own part, the Malays were far more likely to support the British, out of dislike for the Chinese on the part of ordinary folk, and out of fear of Communism from the nobility._  
  
_In Northern Perak, though…_  
  
_Dipprasad raised his hand. At the Major’s nod, he went on. “The lead on his whereabouts can be relied upon, Major-sahib? While our activities remain a secret among the wider population, doubtless the Communist leaders know that...different British soldiers are operating against them. If_ they _know, then by Jove the Russians will know too. And if they know, they might try to lure us in to get their hands on our special equipment.”_  
  
_“That’s been considered,_ Subadar, _” the Major said, smiling tautly. “However, we’re confident in the veracity of our source. Apparently, the Tiger has his primary headquarters in the border territory between Perak, Kelantan, and the Thai Yala Province. In_ this  _triangle somewhere.”_  
  
_“And he’s to be…permanently dealt with?” James asked._  
  
_“Yes. And not subtly, either” The Major leant forward. “The Powers That Be are very clear. They want a message sent. That while we’re a good friend to have, enemies who do what this man does to our troops will end up abjectly and humiliatingly defeated.”_  
  
_James eyed one of the photographs on the wall – a National Service boy, couldn’t be much older than seventeen. His eyes were gone, along with much of his face._  
  
_Returning his gaze to the Major, he nodded coldly. “Understood, sir.”_  
  
_“Good show. Now, as to your equipment: we’ve modified your combat harnesses slightly – the batteries will hold more energy for longer, and we’ve also managed to get the strength boosted by about five percent…”_  
  
  
**RAF Station Brunei, Sultanate of Brunei, July 3rd 2015, 12:00**  
  
_When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,  
And the women come out to cut up what remains,  
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains  
And go to your Gawd like a soldier…_  
  
Beryl closed the book as Henry appeared next to her. “What’re you reading?” he asked.  
  
“Kipling.” Beryl held up the well-thumbed, somewhat faded book. “Essential reading for any British soldier who’s posted out East.”  
  
“Didn’t know you were such an imperialist,” Henry joked, grinning.  
  
“All soldiers are imperialists, at heart. We fight to defend our nations’ interests, and the best way of doing that is ensuring the nation has influence outside its own borders.” Putting the book down, she stretched a little, shifting on her chair. “So, what’s the latest?”  
  
Henry dragged up another of the uncomfortable chairs that filled the base’s mess and slumped down, sighing. “No change yet. It’s all but certain that we’ll be heading in, but they’re still discussing things. You know how it is.”  
  
“I do.” Even when they’d already decided what they were going to do, senior officers always took quite a while to talk it through. But it was inevitable. The situation on the Malay-Thai border was continuing to deteriorate. Rapidly. Whoever it was leading the bandit activity in the region had got both sides violently stirred up. The Royal Thai Army had moved some of its best units up to the border, their Air Force was running regular patrols dangerously close to the border, their old Japanese carrier was already at sea, and the Empire of Japan was making supportive noises toward its long-time ally… And on the other side, the Malays were mobilising, and calling for their allies in Britain and Australia to ‘stand by their age-old allies’. The only options were war, or finding the viper and cutting its head off. But still…the talking went on.  
  
The door to the mess opened, and a new figure appeared. “Captain, Lieutenant, what’s the word?”  
  
“Anahera,” Beryl smiled. “Not much yet, unfortunately.”  
  
Lieutenant Anahera Ihimaera,  _Ngāti Tūmatauenga_ by way of the New Zealand Special Air Service, now attached to PROSPERO, slumped into a chair. One of the legs bent slightly under her two hundred plus pounds of muscle, but it held somehow. “Bloody hell. How’re we supposed to keep our allies safe if our leaders can’t make up their minds…” She flexed her fingers, the tips shining silver from the subdermal implants. “I thought that PROSPERO would cut through a lot of the crap.”  
  
Beryl was about to answer, but then the door flew open again, revealing a nervous-looking young RAF officer. “C-captain! Colonel Pennyworth wants to see you and your team now.”  
  
Beryl blinked. “Tell him we’re on our way.” She rose quickly, the other two falling into step with her as she walked through the mess doors, out onto the tarmac beyond.  
  
The base was its usual hive of activity. As well as housing a wing of V-Bombers, it was also one of two major hubs for mutual exercises and training between British units and the Bruneian Security Forces, so there were always any number of  _them_ on-site.  
  
_The Bruneian Security Forces: all armed with British equipment, and all their officers were educated at Sandhurst._ And they were also rather scarily enthusiastic for how they went after extremists. Probably because their wages were directly paid by the Sultan – and most of the officers were related to him or good friends of him through their families – so they had a decidedly vested interest in not allowing the Bruneian ship of state to be rocked at all.   
  
Of course, those were simply the cover. The very useful and utilitarian cover, to be sure – the cover was real, the base was perfectly located to ensure power projection in the region and shore up allies – but that hid it being the regional base for PROSPERO operations.  
  
The small lift in the corner of an otherwise nondescript hangar was carefully hidden, and only coded to be accessible to those whose DNA was logged in the main computer. It was a short ride, down to another room. A room occupied only by a very, very heavy door, two soldiers on either side of the door, and a remote-controlled minigun that tracked the movement of Beryl and the others as they approached the door. The soldiers also kept them in sight, only lowering their weapons when the three of them had had additional DNA samples taken and their eyes scanned.   
  
Eventually, the door opened, revealing another lift. After another journey, and a short walk down a sterile white corridor, Beryl led the way into a large, brightly-lit conference room. Colonel Pennyworth sat at the head of the table, rising as they entered the room. As one, Beryl and her team saluted.  
  
“At ease.” Colonel Pennyworth waved them to seats, before collapsing back himself. “Well, it seems that your wait is over.”  
  
Beryl leant forward. “Then we’re being deployed, sir?”  
  
“Yes. It’s either that, or run the risk of a full-scale conflict.” He raised a remote control, powering up a screen at the head of the room. The image of a warship appeared. “This is HMAS  _Jigalong,_ an Australian patrol craft assigned to assist the Malaysians in monitoring their maritime border with Thailand.” He raised the control again. “At 01:00 this morning, we lost contact with the  _Jigalong_ shortly after they reported moving to intercept a vessel entering Malaysian waters. Fearing that she’d been attacked, the frigate HMS  _Iron Duke_ was despatched from Singapore to investigate.” Now his thumb pressed on the control. “This is what her crew found, upon boarding.”  
  
Beryl heard Henry breathe in sharply. She couldn’t blame him – it was all she could do not to flinch at the sight of what had once been  _Jigalong’s_ crew. But she looked, looking carefully at the vicious wounds. “They’re the same,” she said at length. “Some kind of claw-like gauntlet – or actual claws. And super-strength behind it.”  
  
“Exactly.” The Colonel moved onto another image. This one showed that the barrel of the  _Jigalong’s_ forward gun had been sheared clean off. “Super-strength, claws…the hallmarks of whoever – or  _whatever_ – has been hitting targets on both sides of the Malay-Thai border. But  _this_ marks a substantial escalation.” He swept them all with his gaze. “And it makes it even more imperative that we find this ‘Tiger’ and put him down.”  
  
Anahera cleared her throat. “How long do we have?”  
  
“Seventy-two hours. After that, Australia demands that we take visible action.”  
  
_Not asking much, are they?_ Beryl gulped softly. Seventy-two hours to track down and neutralise a terrorist force led by a metahuman capable of single-handedly overwhelming the crew of a patrol ship. Seventy-two hours to try to head off a potentially massive crisis, possibly even a war.  
  
_Who Dares Wins, I suppose._

***

 **Perak River, Malay Peninsula, 16th July 1956, 06:00**  
  
_Leading Aircraftman David Lynch, Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm, eyed the jungle on either side of the river nervously. At times like these, he cursed the fact he’d been deployed on a commando carrier – being on one of_ them  _rather than a standard carrier meant that he had the job of ferrying Royal Marines and Gurkhas along various rivers, then securing initial landing points to allow them to deploy and move into the jungle. It had led him far closer to the Communists than he’d have liked, had he any choice in the matter. It had been pure luck that on both occasions he’d managed to shoot them rather than the other way round. And he didn’t want to give them another chance, hence the fear that bubbled in his gut as he eyed the jungle. Every tree, it seemed at that point, could hide another Communist rifleman._  
  
_And…this kind of thing was hard enough when things were normal. Right now, though…_  
  
Perak is where some of the worst fighting is still going on. And these aren’t Marines or Gurkhas, well except for one of them. They’re…  _David didn’t know who they were, but they were definitely out of the ordinary. There were four of them: a Gurkha; a tall, brooding Maori; an Australian; and a thin, hungry-looking Englishman leading them. And instead of normal camo, they were all wearing black, rubberised suits that looked like a bulkier version of what divers wore, with backpacks that seemed to be linked to the suits with thick, insulated cables. Three of them were carrying standard arms – Sten guns and Webleys – but the Maori was carrying a very odd-looking gun, a huge bazooka-like thing with no visible place to insert ammunition._  
  
_David continued to watch the banks, but listened as they talked._  
  
_“…has to be closer to the border,” the Australian was saying. “Being able to skulk into Thai territory would make escaping us damn easy. And he’d be safe there – across the border’s still ethnic Malay anyway, and the Thais don’t enforce it properly.”_  
  
_“That’ll be changing soon,” the Maori added. “The Royal Thai Army’s been building up massively ever since they formalised their new alliance with Japan. But for now…”_  
  
_The Englishman nodded. “Which makes our mission particularly important right now. For the moment, the Tiger will likely be remaining close to the border… But if we don’t bag him now, the changing situation north of the border could force him to relocate.”_  
  
The Tiger?  _David had heard the rumours… Were they going to try to find him?_  
  
_The officer looked up, his eyes meeting David’s. “Remember…” he began._  
  
_“This mission was just a standard patrol up the river,” David finished. “No passengers beyond a squad of Marines.”_  
  
_“Good man.”_  
  
_David looked out, pausing. “We’re here, sir.” He began yelling instructions to the other sailors on the launch, at the same time keeping a close eye on the jungle._  
  
_The men aboard didn’t wait for the launch to reach shore. They leapt off quickly, wading through the water far faster than David would have expected. In moments, they were at the shore, then they were vanishing in amongst the trees, the jungle swallowing them._  
  
_David shivered. He didn’t know who they were or what unit they were from…and he had a strong idea he didn’t want to know._  
  
* * *  
  
**Perak River, Malay Peninsula, July 4th 2015, 05:00**  
  
The blade-like submersible was about eight years old: a PROSPERO product, its engines and hull based on studies of the alien craft that the project had been based around. Undetectable by sonar, powered by highly advanced microfusion engines, it was leagues ahead of other vessels of its kind. PROSPERO had about half a dozen, while the Royal Navy operated four ship-sized ones utterly unbeknownst to the general public. Highly expensive, but they were capable of launching nuclear weapons without the targets knowing a thing about it until the first detonations. In other words, the ideal weapon of last resort.  
  
Beryl shifted slightly, her armour making the troop compartment a bit more of a tight fit than it was. “Hopefully,” she said, “this time our boy won’t inspire someone else to take up the mantle.”  
  
Anahera nodded. “My grandfather was on the mission that went looking for the original Tiger,” she said reflectively. “I never knew until I got brought into PROSPERO. After that…” She shrugged. “He and I had a very, very long talk indeed.”  
  
“Was he unhappy that you’d followed him into it?” Henry asked.  
  
“Oh yes.” Anahera sighed. “He accepted that I was going into the military…” she gestured to herself. “Built like this, it and rugby were the best careers for me! But PROSPERO…” She sighed again. “He didn’t like that at all. Not after all his friends who died in it.”  
  
Beryl nodded. “I don’t blame him. There’s a reason we get so many perks with this job.”  
  
PROSPERO ran some of the most dangerous black-ops in the Commonwealth, and in return, it made sure that its soldiers were well-motivated. Generous pay, good accommodation – Beryl had a rather nice apartment in Hong Kong that she went back to while on leave – a generous pension, a generous pension for your family if you copped it…and, most importantly, the ability to walk out at any time you wanted. Requesting reassignment didn’t carry any kind of black mark at all, and the process was easy.   
  
Anahera laughed slightly at that. “True. I’ve got quite the bachelorette pad back in Christchurch, when I get back to it. And knowing my folks’ll be taken care of if I die… It’s worth it.”  
  
A voice crackled over the internal speakers. “Five minutes from deployment,” the pilot – an Australian woman – reported.  
  
“Acknowledged.” Beryl began her final suit diagnostics, checking for any difficulties at all that the last set hadn’t picked up on.  
  
Across from her, Anahera went about checking her own equipment. She was wearing an amp-harness, a bio-electric device that amplified her existing strength to a ridiculous degree. Without it, she was one of the strongest people Beryl had ever met.  _With_ it…the word ‘monster’ sprang to mind.  
  
Amp-harnesses had been around since the beginning of PROSPERO, of course, but they’d changed a lot. The old ones had been fairly bulky and had just given a boost to the system – enhanced speed and strength, more of an ‘edge’ than a real magic bullet. Still undeniably helpful, but the versions of today could increase strength by a full hundred percent. Plus, they were far less cumbersome – back in the day, it would have been a rubberised suit and power-pack, but the lightweight silvery thing Anahera wore today could be worn under camoflague. It ran across and framed her chest, looking like a metal bra but with no cups, and was thoroughly flexible.  
  
As well as the harness, the tall Maori was wearing an optical camo-cape, and had a shoulder-mounted weapon wirelessly linked to her head. It moved when her head did, and fired with a thought. Personally, Beryl thought that on top of an amp-harness it was just a bit unfair.   
  
Though then again, so was the Knight suit.   
  
She grinned wolfishly as she saw the status reports flash into her HUD. The suit was armed and ready to go, and there wasn’t a thing wrong with her.  _You and me, milady. We’ll grind anything in our way to pulp._  
  
Henry wasn’t wearing anything additional, but the various close-combat implants and the improved nervous system he had would more than make up for that. He was tensing, balancing on the balls of his feet. His body seemed to vibrate with nervous energy, as though he was about to explode from the submersible.  
  
“Two minutes,” the pilot reported.  
  
“Acknowledged,” Beryl replied again, rising to her feet and moving over to the hatch.  
  
“Are you as cute as you sound?” Anahera asked, grinning. “Hope so – give me a reason to come back.”  
  
Beryl shook her head. “Do you never switch off?” she asked.  
  
“Not when any mission could be the last. There’s a reason PROSPERO doesn’t have rules against fraternisation.”  
  
Another incentive to remain in the unit, for some. It wasn’t one that Beryl had ever found particularly necessary. “I’ve just never understood why you’d want someone who works with you. Gabriel and I…when we’re together, we talk about everything else, our work never comes into it.” Granted, that was partly because Gabriel wasn’t in PROSPERO and there was such a thing as the Official Secrets Act, but still…  
  
“You two are still together, then?” Henry asked.   
  
“Yep.” The fact surprised Beryl herself sometimes, but… Gabriel was one of a very few men she’d met who wasn’t threatened by her strength. And if she was honest, it was nice to be with an intellectual, gentle man rather than some brain-dead squaddie.  
  
There was a hiss as the compartment was isolated from the cockpit. Then, a second later, the side hatch slid open and the water of the Perak river flooded in. Beryl and the others waited until it was up to the ceiling, then they slipped out.   
  
Beryl grinned under her helmet.  _Here we come._

***

 **Borderland, Perak Province, 17th July 1956, 21:00**  
  
_James yelled loudly as he hurled the screaming Malay over his head into the trunk of a tree. He didn't waste time on the downed man, though, instead snatching up his Sten gun and firing several short bursts. Next to him, Dipprasad tore through a cluster of the enemy, his kukri and his suit's additional strength proving a lethal combination._  
  
_This hadn't been part of the mission. They were supposed to be making straight for where the Tiger most likely was, avoiding combat where possible. But then they'd come across these bastards herding a mob of frightened women through the jungle..._  
  
_Like the Communists, the Tiger had no mercy on those who worked on British-owned plantations. The men ended up dead - usually decapitated - and the women got taken. Such was the fate that those who 'collaborated' with the British deserved, apparently._  
  
_A group of the enemy were running now, fleeing for the safety of the trees. Winston, though, was too quick for them. In a flash, the huge Maori had his weapon at his shoulder, and fired. The red beam that shot out was as thick as a truncheon, and sliced effortlessly through the fleeing men, killing them all together._  
  
Bloody handy thing, even if it eats power.  _The weapon was reserved for PROSPERO use because its limitations - power supply and the resurrects needed to make it - made it inefficient to mass-produce. But as an unexpected surprise it was well worth it..._  
  
_Andrew appeared,dragging a live one with him. "This one nearly made it," he said. "And he looked to be in charge. He might be some help in finding our main prey. The rest are neutralised."_  
  
_"Good show." James smiled a little. So his bleeding heart could have helped the mission... Always a good thing._  
  
_He turned to the women, who regarded him nervously but at least weren't shrinking away. "Go home," he told them in Malay. "Get soldiers, get constables. Tell what happened to you, but not about us. Tell Marines saved you."_  
  
_He repeated it a few times, stressing the part about not telling anybody. He knew that inevitably some would eventually say something, but by that point it'd be so distorted and misremembered that it wouldn't attract any attention._  
  
_They all left, murmuring tearful gratitude. James and Andrew watched them go, before James turned to the enemy guerrilla. "Now," he said coldly, "let's have a little talk..."_  
  
* * *   
  
**Borderland, Perak Province, 4th July 2015, 10:30**  
  
"We shouldn't..." Squire hissed.  
  
Knight cut him off with a raised hand, eyes fixed on the scene in the clearing before them. About a dozen guerrillas were clustered around, most of them guarding a group of four young British women who they'd forced to their knees. Two, though, were taking it in turns to beat a young Malay soldier who was hanging from a nearby tree.  
  
"How much longer can you hold out, eh?" one of them called up. "You'll have to cry out sooner or later. And remember the deal: if you do, then..." His eyes flicked meaningfully to the women. "It's not like you were any good at protecting them before, why keep trying."  
  
"Go...fuck yourself...you traitorous pig," the soldier managed. Knight winced behind her visor. He couldn't be much older than 18 - some poor National Service kid who hadn't expected something like this. But he was taking the beating without so much as flinching...  
  
"We've a..." Squire began.  
  
"I'm  _not_  leaving civilians to their tender mercies, thank you very much," Knight hissed back. "Tangaroa, are you in position?"  
  
"Just, ma'am." One of the many technologies that PROSPERO operatives had access to was throat-mikes, allowing subvocalisations for radio comms. Even if they were right beside her, the enemy wouldn't hear Anahera -  _Tangaroa_  - speak...but Knight could.  
  
"All right. Move in on my signal..." She paused, then nodded. " _Now_."  
  
There was a ripple in the air next to the two enemy soldiers who were closest to the prisoners, then suddenly they were lifted from the ground and slammed into one another hard enough to break bone. The others whirled, only for energy blasts to slam into two more…then Tangaroa was visible for a split-second, barreling bodily into a third and literally trampling him beneath her.  
  
The two men by the captured soldier were still staring as Knight erupted from cover. Her shoulder-lasers fired: the one on her left drilling through one man’s head; the one on her right burning through the interrogator’s leg and dropping him screaming to the ground.  
  
Gunfire rang out, bullets bouncing from her armour like rain. She spun, HUD lighting up as she targeted the running men. They were breaking now, retreating with wild fire. She powered forward in pursuit, just as she saw Tangaroa lift a man up and hurl him into another, then shoot both of them as they tried to pick themselves up. Just as she saw Squire, moving so fast her eyes nearly couldn’t see him, leap into the midst of the three remaining guerrillas, blades flashing as his jacked-up nervous system turned him from a man into what was effectively a murderous hummingbird.  
  
Anyone else might have relaxed at that point. But SAS training and a career in some of the deadliest black-ops on the planet had made sure that all three of the PROSPERO commandos were already moving for cover, pulling the prisoners with them as more guerrillas poured from the jungle. As Knight shoved two of the girls into the lee of a tree, two of them unleashed fire from some kind of energy weapons, while the other four barreled forward.  
  
Tangaroa met one of them, slamming into him with the force of a freight train, while Squire leapt for another…only to be knocked backwards.  
  
_Shit. They’re on that stuff we saw in Jump City._ This called for a long-range approach. Lining up on the one who’d hit Squire, Knight fired armour-piercing rocket darts, aiming for the centre of mass. Even ‘roided up, those stopped him. As he fell, she lunged for another, blades extending from her suit. She took a heavy blow, armour shaking slightly but not bending, then slashed neatly. She’d learned from an early stage of her career to favour small, sparing blows at weak points like Achilles tendons, and it payed off here. To her side, meanwhile, Tangaroa proved that amp-harnesses combined with a naturally powerful physique beat out any weakling who took chemicals.  
  
An energy-blast hit Knight’s arm, knocking her back. Her HUD lit up with warning icons, and she saw exposed circuitry flickering. She prepared to fire back…only for a crackling burst of energy to hit the man who’d fired on her, sending him flying, and for the other two men’s energy guns to suddenly flare and spark. As they stared, gunfire rang out from the jungle, cutting them down instantly.  
  
Knight tensed…then relaxed as she saw just who it was moving from the jungle. Hard-faced men, with the tell-tale look of  _10 Briged Para_ soldiers. She raised a hand…then paused as she saw them escorting a young-looking woman wearing heavy Kevlar and a large pair of goggles.  
  
She recognised her easily. “Kalip, isn’t it?” she asked, voice synthesiser hard at work. She’d read the dossiers on Malaysia’s official superhero: a young ethnic Chinese girl who’d manifested her powers at thirteen and had taken up the role of superhero to her homeland in return for a guaranteed free college education and a number of other perks for her family.  _She’s not especially powerful, but she’s done a lot of good work up on the border…_  
  
Kalip – Firefly in English – stared avidly. “Th-that’s right. But who’re you? I follow the superheroes, you’re not anyone I know…”  
  
“We’re not superheroes.”  
  
“Well you’re clearly not  _villains_  – not after what you just did. And you’re super-powered, ergo you’re heroes.”  
  
Well, by that definition…  
  
One of the Malaysian soldiers stepped forward as the rest of his men fanned out, establishing a perimeter and gently cutting down the young conscript. “Captain bin Osman, ma’am, head of Kalip’s security detail. We were tracking these swine.”  
  
“The women they took prisoner were aid workers,” Kalip added, voice wobbling slightly. “They killed the men – they were all helping to set up a better water supply for a village nearby, and they got killed…”  
  
A couple of the commandos moved closer to Kalip, one patting her shoulder and the other saying something quiet. Captain bin Osman nodded sadly. “I know, but at least they were stopped from adding to their crimes.” His voice softened slightly as he spoke to the young superhero.  
  
“The Tiger’s following his namesake’s policy of targeting civilians he thinks are collaborators,” Tangaroa observed, shutting off her active camouflage.  
  
“Absolutely. On both sides of the border – ethnic Malays he thinks are cooperating too much with the Thai government end up dead.” Kalip sighed deeply, then shook her head. “We’re trying to disrupt his attacks and find some kind of lead on where the heck he is. We managed the first OK, but the second…It’s not as easy as it looks in the movies.”  
  
One of the soldiers looked at the young hero sympathetically. “The Tiger’s men are…very loyal. They don’t give up information.”  
  
Knight felt a degree of sympathy for both parties. By the sounds of it, Kalip didn’t give her escort much license in the area of finding out information. Which wasn’t exactly surprising – a civilian, especially a young one, couldn’t understand the things that were sometimes necessary in black-ops.  
  
_God. Would I have thought like that before I got into the Regiment?_  
  
She shook her head to herself. “We might be able to help there.”  
  
Turning, she moved over to the one they’d taken alive. He was curled up in a ball, holding onto where the laser had burned his leg. Knight rolled him over onto his back. “So,” she said pleasantly in Malay, “feel like talking?”  
  
“Go to hell, British pig,” he hissed, pain and hatred written over his face.  
  
“I wouldn’t be like that, pal. I wouldn’t be like that at all. Not since we’re the only ones who’ve stood between you and the Communists for years. Along with keeping the Thais from encroaching on your territory from time to time.”  
  
“Protecting…your businesses and the…rich nobles who pander to you. Malaysia…deserves to be more…than a source of oil and metal for Britain and Australia.”  
  
“Yes. A stable source of oil and metal, with a decent GDP and OK employment from all those evil British and Australian businesses. What a horrible fate.”  
  
Knight raised her right arm, opening a small compartment on the back of her wrist armour. She withdrew a sealed syringe-pack and a vial containing a milky white fluid. “You’ve probably heard all manner of stories about what the British will do to you if they catch you…though quite often, I’d be more worried about what the Malay Army will do, they’re the ones you tend to target most after all. But you’ll be pleased to know we’re not like that.” She grinned nastily behind her visor. “On the other hand, you’ll tell us far more than you would have done if we’d tortured you.”

***

 **Borderland, Perak Province, 18th July 1956, 00:450**  
  
_The heavy tropical rain sluiced down through the night, but the four men beneath it didn’t notice. They’d managed to make a rough shelter in the lee of a fallen tree, and between that and the waterproof suits they were wearing, they were staying fairly comfortable. Far more so than James remembered from his pre-PROSPERO days._  
  
_He chewed meditatively on the field ration – a flat, compressed cake that tasted slightly sweet. “Could be worse,” he said eventually._  
  
_“Could be.” Winston sighed. “Could be a lot better too.”_  
  
_“Then again, if you wanted good food why’d ya join the Army, cobber?” Andrew asked, chuckling._  
  
_“Because when you’re a Maori there’s not many other ways to make a living, white-boy,” came the rueful response._  
  
_There was a brief silence at that, before Dipprasad spoke again. “Do you think, Captain-sahib…do you think we’ll win here?”_  
  
_James stretched out a little. “Depends on your definition of ‘winning’, Subadar. If you mean ‘beat the Communists’, then we’ve mostly done it by now – I give it another year, two maybe, before they have to abandon the struggle entirely. If you mean ‘getting Malaya back the way it was’, though…I think that ship’s sailed. The people of the Peninsula aren’t going to be content with being ruled from London, they’ll want their own government.” James raised a finger. “But then again, if we play things smart – and that’s the way our lords and master in PROSPERO are advising the government – we can make sure British influence stays on even if our flag doesn’t officially fly here anymore. After all, it’s not such a problem if the Malays have their own government…just as long as British businesses can get oil, rubber and metal, and as long as our military can keep basing here.” He looked over at Andrew. “Though they might have to share responsibility more with you.”_  
  
_“Well, that’s a shock, sir. The idea of Poms needing Australians to give ‘em a hand. Can’t think of any time that’s happened before…”_  
  
_The four men shared a laugh at that. “Well, the battle’s half-won,” James said eventually. “The Malays already like us for defending them from the Chinese Communists, and their rulers like being able to send their sons to Eton and Cambridge. All we have to do is capitalise on that. And deal with any outliers.”_  
  
_“Well, you’ll have to be doing that without me, sir.” That was Winston, speaking slowly but regretfully. “This is my last mission.”_  
  
_James blinked. “Really? You’re leaving PROSPERO?”_  
  
_“Yes, sir.” The huge Maori grinned slightly. “For a good reason, though – finally popped the question. And being nearly married…”_  
  
_“Not exactly an ideal condition to be in while serving in PROSPERO._ ”  _James nodded. “Can’t exactly blame you, my lad. All right – we’ll miss you…”_  
  
_“Speak for yourself,” Andrew cut in._  
  
_“…but if anyone deserves a better life out of all this, you do.” He grinned. “I hope your young lady is a good one.”_  
  
_“She is.”_  
  
_“Don’t be too eager to marry, by Jove,” Dipprasad advised. “I was…and now missions are the only times I have any peace from her or my daughters.”_  
  
_“Says the man who spends his leaves agonising over presents to buy them,” Winston shot back, grinning hugely._  
  
_“Will you stay in the services?” Andrew asked._  
  
_“Nah. I’ve picked up a lot of practical engineering, I think I’ll try getting a job with that. Something where I’ll come home in the evenings and spend the weekends…I dunno, sitting in the sun or teaching my son rugby or something.”_  
  
_“Well, you’ll have your pension from PROSPERO. That much I can guarantee.”_  
  
_“Thanks, sir.” Winston paused. “There’s a lot I won’t miss. But I’ll miss you all.”_  
  
* * *  
  
**Borderland, Perak Province**  
  
Knight shouldered her way through the undergrowth, HUD and motion trackers probing the jungle ahead. They weren’t catching anything but the movement of small animals underfoot, but it was as well to keep an eye out.  
  
“I hope that he’s alright,” she heard Kalip murmur.  
  
“The soldier?” she asked, subvocalising directly into earbeads.  
  
“Yes. He was so brave – way braver than he had to be…”  
  
“He’s a soldier. They were civilians. He did what he had to do to protect them.” Knight paused. “He  _was_  young, and a conscript…but where some might have just run, or tried to save themselves, he remembered his duty. There’s no better praise for any soldier. And it’s so, so much harder to do your duty when you can’t actually fight. But he did it.”  
  
Silence fell for a while after that, until there was a ripple in the air and Anahera appeared, moving back to the column. “We’re clear up ahead,” she said, shoving her cape back off her head. “And I found the dirt track OK.”  
  
Knight acknowledged that with a nod. “Good work. We’ll follow it, but we won’t go onto it until we’re closer to the village he mentioned. Once we’re there, we’ll wait till nightfall then move in quietly.”  
  
The soldiers escorting Kalip nodded, though the superhero herself seemed to be looking rather avidly at Anahera.  
  
Eventually, the tall Maori seemed to notice the attention. “Everything OK?” she asked, bending down slightly.  
  
“ _IbetyoucouldwrestlePowerWoman_ ,” Kalip blurted out.  
  
Knight couldn't help it. She burst out laughing, joined by Squire shortly thereafter. And Anahera herself, as Kalip looked at the ground and tried to shrink behind her cloak and collar.  
  
"Don't know about that," Anahera said, stopping laughing as she saw how embarrassed the young superhero had become. She smiled kindly. "Though you never know... Depends on a lot of factors. That girl's all about being very public, very flashy..."  
  
_That's_  one  _way of putting it_  Knight thought wickedly, remembering the Yank tabloids after Power Woman's fight with that living nuclear reactor.  
  
"But us...well, you don't see us coming until it's too late. So on a dark night, starting from behind her...you never know."  
  
Knight remained silent at that. PROSPERO had tried wargaming how best one could neutralise Power Woman if she went rogue, based on information they'd taken from the original ship and on what they'd gathered from analysing her fights.  
  
Currently, they had two possibilities short of nukes for that awful eventuality. One was aiming for the eyes with an anti-material rifle and DU ammunition. The other was still on the drawing board, and was designed to act as a giant EMP that could plunge half Russia into a blackout. And it wasn't guaranteed that either would work.  
  
Kalip grinned a little shyly at that. “I suppose.” Even as she talked, she was still watching around her – far more carefully than Knight would have expected from an amateur. “I mean, you’re huge…” She paused suddenly and raised her hands. “ _Ididn’tmeanthatI’msorry! I meant…_ ”  
  
“I knew what you meant, don’t worry.”  
  
Kalip sighed. “You and her…you’re both really really impressive. There’s so much you can both do…” Another sigh. “Me, I’m tiny and weak and I only have this one superpower that’s…kind of limited.”  
  
“And yet, you’re still out here, trying to help your country stop a dangerous terrorist who wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill you.” Anahera’s voice was kind. “That takes courage – far more than it does for someone with bulletproof skin.”  
  
Captain bin Osman chuckled. “We’ve been telling her that for a good while now,” he muttered to Knight. “Hopefully your friend will have better luck.”  
  
Knight grinned.  _Oh, I think she just might…_  
  
Suddenly, she froze as her suit picked up multiple sounds. The naked ear might not have discerned them, but the suit did, and it identified them right away. “Silenced machine guns. They’re firing from the village.”  
  
Instantly, the commandos were moving, vanishing into the foliage and leading Kalip with them. Anahera cloaked, while Knight and Squire dropped and began moving at a half-run, half-crouch through the undergrowth.  
  
The village was a small one, one that even rigorous modernisation and infrastructure programmes hadn’t quite caught up with yet. A snapshot of traditional rural life in Malaysia…except for how there wasn’t anyone visible around it.  
  
Knight moved quickly through and by outlying buildings, signaling to the others to loop around in different directions. She and Squire leapfrogged quickly, moving closer and closer to the centre.  
  
Rounding a corner, she froze. What looked like the village’s entire populace was lined up, with a dozen black-clad and masked soldiers menacing them. Two more were dragging men forward, and forcing them to their knees. A tall, stern-looking young man in the robes of a Theravada Buddhist monk was watching the whole thing, scowling at the villagers.  
  
_Well, he’s Thai. Definitely._ But not all the soldiers were. Half of them had subtly different gear…  _I’m guessing…half Thai special forces, half Japanese…either Special Naval Landing Forces or Paratroopers._  
  
More to the point, she realised that three of the men being dragged forward were the ones that their prisoner had told them about. The ones who could disable various automated defences around the Tiger’s lair.  
  
She moved out of cover, raising her arms and powering up various weapons. “You’re on Malaysian soil – drop the weapons,” she ordered loudly.  
  
The other soldiers reacted quickly, raising their weapons quickly, while the monk moved his hands together and energy lit up between them.  _Ah. A metahuman. Well, this could be awkward._  
  
Kalip and her soldiers quickly appeared behind the intruders, weapons ready, while Tangaroa decloaked atop a building overhang, elevated over the enemy. “Just try it, pal,” she advised.  
  
The monk looked up at her. “You’re shielding these low beings?” he asked, sneeringly. “Scum who raid across the border, who kill Buddhist villagers…the lowest forms of life in the ten thousand universes.”  
  
Kalip shouldered her way forward. “If that’s true, they’re criminals and we’ll treat them accordingly,” she said, her voice admirably steady. “But this, this is Malaysian territory, neither the Kingdom of Thailand nor the Empire of Japan has jurisdiction here.”  
  
One of the kneeling men spat. “We don’t need you to shield us, you Westernised slut.”  
  
Captain bin Osman stepped forward. “Say that once more, and we might decide we don’t need you after all,” he snarled, before facing the monk. “This  _is_ our territory. Your crossing the border is at minimum a hostile act, if not an act of outright war.”  
  
“And when extremists come into our territory, to rouse up Muslims against Buddhists, what is that but aggression? Not that they need much rousing up.” The monk added something in Thai, something that Knight’s translator system managed to get but that she wished hadn’t.  
  
Knight had met and seen a great many pleasant, genuinely  _good_ Buddhist monks. Various Zen monks in Japan, monks in Sri Lanka, the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hanh…men who were honestly good and kind and had immense compassion for everyone and everything in the world. But there were other types: those more ascetic ones who looked upon the world with rareified contempt, who looked forward only to Nirvana…and a certain subset who preached intolerance against Muslims. This particular one looked very much like he combined both of those unpleasantnesses.  _Bloody hell, how’d_ he  _get to be a metahuman?_  
  
“As I said,” Knight growled, “this is Malaysian territory. Pull back, or we’ll have no choice but to defend it.”  
  
“You think you can withstand the power of the Three Jewels? I doubt…”  
  
The monk was cut short as one of the soldiers lowered his weapon, then barked an order in Japanese. “We don’t want violence,” he said then, in Malay “but we’re here to take down the Tiger. We’re not withdrawing, and we’re  _not_ surrendering.”  
  
Kalip spread her hands. “How about a compromise? Some of you leave, but you and maybe a couple of your men stay with us. We’re hunting the same prey you are, so you come with us to confirm that the threat’s dealt with.”  
  
The man who’d spoken paused, but the monk drew himself up haughtily. “We’re not going to…”  
  
That would be acceptable.” The Japanese officer – Knight guessed he was – cut across him smoothly, before calling more orders.  
  
The monk glared, then starting yelling angrily in Thai. Something about how he represented the Kingdom of Thailand and the King’s interests, and that they couldn’t make a deal with those who’d violate the sacred soil of Thailand…only for the Japanese officer to shout something short and pungent at him. He drew himself up with an offended sniff, and turned away, ignoring the worldly creatures who fluttered around.  
  
Slowly, the Japanese and Thai soldiers lowered and slung their rifles. And, at Kalip’s signal, so did the Malaysians.  
  
“Get the prisoners secured,” Kalip ordered. “And see to the villagers – we don’t want them to think they need to be like these people in order to chase away men with guns.”  
  
Knight nodded to her as her orders were obeyed. “Good work on defusing that. I thought things might get nasty.”  
  
“Anyone could have thought of that, I just…”  
  
She was cut short as Tangaroa – Anahera now that the tension was leaking from the air – landed next to her. “It was your achievement, young lady. Own it,” she advised, grinning.  
  
Knight had to say, though she was good at what she did, Kalip had to be the easiest superhero in the world to fluster.

***

 **Eight miles south of Malay-Thai Border, Perak Province, 18th July 1956, 23:00**  
  
_James looked down at the encampment. It wasn't exactly the largest, but it was well-built - four good, strong walls around it, built from bamboo - with guard towers commanding wide fields of fire. More: it was well-camouflaged, blending into the jungle thanks to a combination of cut foliage and live trees growing inside the compound._  
  
_Dipprasad whistled. "Our bombers could have hunted forever and never found this," he observed._  
  
_"You're right there. Not without dropping blind." And that was being discouraged these days - winning hearts and minds was easier when collateral damage wasn't an issue._  
  
_James shivered. It was for the same reason that defoliant use was being ended - that and the health effects the stuff would have had on servicemen. Thankfully, PROSPERO had analysed the agents and had identified just what kind of effects they could have long term._  
  
_He considered. "They're optimised for defence against a commando force..." he said carefully. "A_ standard _commando force, that is... But there's a lot we have they wouldn't expect."_  
  
_Winston nodded. "My laser would open the walls up nicely and take care of those guard towers. I had the solar fins deployed all day, so it'll have enough juice for a few shots. We'll have to pick the targets carefully though."_  
  
_James considered. "Yessss... Though they'd be on top of any hole in the wall in seconds." He paused. "Of course...we could probably be over the wall fairly quickly if we weren't spotted. So..." he smiled slowly. "If we were to have one set of defences lasered open, that'd draw their attention. Certainly long enough to get us over the other side."_  
  
_Winston nodded. "I can do that, sir. I can definitely do that."_  
  
_"Good show. Now: once you've done what you have to do, get into cover. You'll be drawing the greater part of them after you."_  
  
_"Yes, sir."_  
  
_It was amazing, James reflected, how silently the bigger man could move. The night swallowed him up, and no sounds were left._  
  
_For a while, the three remaining soldiers were quiet themselves as they moved through the undergrowth, closer and closer to the wall. Coming to the edge, where the undergrowth had been cleared, James looked around at his boys._  
  
They're ready.  _He didn't even need to ask._  
  
_"Ready here, sir," Winston's voice rasped into his earbead._  
  
_"Go!"_  
  
_The night lit up as the laser fired, the thick red beam shearing the top of a guard tower off and killing the men inside before turning on the wall and opening it up like a water-cutter through a Sunday roast. Answering gunfire rang out, and the camp suddenly boiled with activity, but the beam kept up its path of destruction._  
  
_James waited until he saw a good-sized number of guerrillas converging on the far side. Then as one, he and the other broke cover and made for the wall. To climb it was easy with their suits, and the wire at the top was cut in seconds._  
  
_Just as James had expected, the majority of the enemy were converging on the other wall, firing blindly into the night. Another beam lanced out from the laser, destroying the other guard tower and killing a clutch of men, provoking even more furious fire from within._  
  
Careful Winston. Don't go getting too carried away...  
  
_Moving quickly through the darkened camp, they dodged between trees and low, camouflaged buildings. A group of somewhat tardy men ran into them, but were quickly dealt with by bare hand._  
  
_Rounding the corner of a building, James looked into the centre of the encampment. Several of the enemy were forming up, around a tall man barking orders._  
  
_James' eyes narrowed. The Malay at the centre of the group was_ **huge** , _easily as big as Winston if not taller. He was stripped to the waist, with black and orange stripes painted all across his torso. A tiger-print bandanna was wrapped about his head, and he had two clawed gauntlets of metal and bamboo on his hands._  
  
_We've found our man. And he was easily in range._  
  
_Signalling to the others, James spun from cover, raised his Sten, and unleashed a short burst._  
  
_The burst should have killed anyone. And indeed, the Tiger rocked back briefly as the bullets stitched a line across his stomach. But then - to James' horror - he pulled back and leapt forward through the air, landing just in front of the three British soldiers. James tried to fire again, but suddenly was forced to block as the Tiger's claws descended, shearing right through the Sten's metal._  
  
_"Jai mahakali! Anwo Gorkhali!" Dipprasad's kukri sliced deep into the man's stomach, scoring a red line right across. A blow like that should have disembowelled him._  
  
_James experienced one moment of pure horror as he saw the wound begin to close up, then suddenly the Tiger was moving again, claws tearing at Dipprasad's face and chest._  
  
_Even through the pain, the Gurkha didn't make any sound, just swung his blade again, this time scoring a line across the Tiger's chest. James yanked his Webley out and fired into the man's back, again and again until the cylinder clicked empty. It didn't even make the man turn, he pressed on with his frenzied attack._  
  
_He was dimly aware of Andrew opening fire as more of the enemy rushed forward. He was dimly aware of another beam lancing out from the jungle, cutting into the advancing enemy...and then of a mortar firing, the shell bursting where the beam had come from. But it was the Tiger who commanded his attention._  
  
_As Dipprasad fell, still trying to attack, James drew his bayonet and lunged, aiming for the throat._  
  
_He barely saw the bigger man move. The claws punched deep into his chest and he collapsed, trying not to scream._  
  
_The huge man towered over him. "I've heard of you," he grinned. "Whispers of British devils stronger than normal men, with strange weapons. I didn't really believe it until now." His teeth gleamed in the night. "I'm flattered."_  
  
_James could feel his vision darkening as his enemy loomed over him..._  
  
  
  
_* * *_  
  
**Twelve miles south of Malay-Thai border, 4th July 2015, 17:00**  
  
The jungle heat looked to be getting to the monk -  _Arhat, as_ Knight had discovered he called himself. He was wiping irritably at his head, casting dark glances at the jungle.  
  
Moving closer to the two soldiers who'd remained with them, Knight lowered her voice. "Why'd you take him with you?"  
  
"Because he's one of the Kingdom's more powerful metahumans," Lieutenant Zinna - the Royal Thai Army officer - replied, an answer that clearly dissatisfied her. "And given how short we are of metahumans, the Kingdom rather lionises him."  
  
Captain Kuribayashi sighed. "And doesn't he know it. He takes such pride in his elevated and unworldly nature..." He shook his head. "My family's monk drinks Irish whiskey and has a wife and children, and he's a holier man by far than that idiot."  
  
Zinna did her best not to laugh, while Knight let herself grin under her visor.  
  
She cast a look behind her. The Malaysian troops were moving ahead of Kalip - Su Lin, as her actual name was - making sure the way was clear, while the young superhero brought up the rear with Anahera. She seemed utterly fascinated by the huge Maori.  
  
"So...why'd you become a soldier?" Knight heard Kalip ask.  
  
Anahera shrugged. "Eh, well, take a look at me. This size and these muscles, it was either that or sports. And I wasn't much good at school - not  _bad_  but not great either. So I joined up." She grinned a little. "'Sides, it seemed appropriate, after the games I played as a kid."  
  
"You pretended to be a soldier? That's cute..."  
  
Anahera chuckled. "Nah, sweetness, I pretended to be a Maori chieftain. Fighting the British and protecting all my wives."  
  
Knight laughed, making sure that her visor was down, as Kalip stared up. She just  _knew_ the younger woman’s eyes were round as saucers behind her goggles. “I..I see…”  
  
“Yeah, I had myself figured out well back then.” Anahera laughed a little, then got serious. “So how about you? What got you into being a superhero?”  
  
“The government really, really wanted an official superhero. So when I manifested…they offered me a free-ride, both undergrad and grad school, accommodation and everything included, at a college of my choice anywhere in any friendly nation. I’m studying at Yale, and I’m gonna do a PhD at Oxford if they’ll take me. But I come home to be a superhero at vacations, and if they need me I get free flights home.”  
  
“Good deal. What did your family think about that?”  
  
Kalip giggled. “My mother told me to take it without a second thought, then bought nearly five hundred dollars’ worth of incense for our local temple. She was  _so_ happy. My dad too, though he worries more.”  
  
Squire raised a hand, and Knight and the others dropped into crouch positions. Reaching into a compartment on her armour, Knight removed the small device they’d taken from one of the men at the village and depressed a central button.  
  
The small needle within the device lanced out, piercing the small bag of blood that Knight had attached to her armour’s thumb and taking a sample. A second later, it flashed green…and Knight’s HUD suddenly lit up with multiple automated defence systems. Systems that were going inactive.  
  
_Clever, having those lads as gatekeepers. Though they weren’t exactly the best precautions – if I’d been setting it up, I’d have required a retinal scan too._  
  
They moved on. Apparently, it was another half-mile to the actual base camp.  
  
They’d barely gone ten feet when the attack came. Gunfire rang from all around, sending sparks flying from Knight’s armour and dropping three soldiers to the ground. Behind her, Anahera – Tangaroa again now – pulled Kalip to cover.  
  
Knight whirled, seeing several men in camouflague breaking cover. Her shoulder-mounted dart-launchers spat armour-piercing rocket darts, and she powered forward towards one, wrist-blades extending. Next to her, Squire whirled, tearing one unlucky man apart.  
  
There was a roar, and she saw more men breaking cover, running right at them. Lieutenant Zinna shot one of them with a three-round burst, but then another was on top of her, sending the Thai soldier flying with a single blow.  
  
_Shit. They’re on that drug, the one from Jump City._  Knight fired her lasers, burning the man down, as Arhat unleashed vivid, multi-coloured energy blasts from his hands, killing two more. “Die, Muslim  _pigs_!” he roared. “Face the powers of the Three Jewels and fear…”  
  
He shrieked loudly as one of the enemy managed to reach him and grab him by the throat, lifting him bodily from the ground. Only to be dropped as Captain Kuribayashi fired, bringing his assailant to the ground. Still shrieking, the monk turned and fled for the jungle, running blindly.  
  
There was a roar, and Tangaroa exploded into the midst of the enemy, sending men flying in multiple directions through sheer brute force. More converged on her, only for guns to spark and fizzle into uselessness.  
  
Two more men were suddenly looming up in front of Knight. One slammed a fist into her chest, making the armour’s HUD glow yellow. But her own strength was just as formidable, and her answering blow in conjunction with her wrist-blade severed the man’s head, while his comrade fell to a chest wound.  
  
About half of Kalip’s guards were dead. But they were turning the tide: if they could just…  
  
A blurred shape leapt through the air, landing next to Tangaroa. Before Knight could quite comprehend what she was seeing, the huge Maori was doubling over, blood pouring from a vicious wound in her stomach. Then an explosion sent her flying from her feet, and her head slammed into the back of her helmet, knocking her out.  
  
Slowly, reluctantly, she blinked back to consciousness. “…can’t open the armour here,” she heard someone say in Malay. “Have to get her back to camp.”  
  
“That’s not a problem,” she heard another voice – a woman’s, low and musical – answer. “Just as long as the formula holds. And it seems to be. What about her comrades?”  
  
“The other British soldier is wounded, he won’t give us any trouble. We can’t find the Maori, though. Or the traitor.”  
  
“Keep looking,” the woman ordered. “But for the moment, they’ll do nicely.”  
  
_Oh, will we?_ Knight tried to move, only for warning signals to light up all over her HUD, and for her arms and legs to resolutely refuse to move.  
  
Looking down, she saw…something all over her armour. Some kind of hard grey substance, like a mix of concrete and epoxy with a slightly organic finish. She tried to move again, but whatever it was stuck fast.  
  
A shadow fell over her. Looking up, she saw a dimunuitive Malay woman standing above her. She barely topped five feet…yet she wore bamboo and metal claws, and a tiger-print bandana. “So,” she said, looking down. “Britain’s mysterious commandos come to Malaysia once again,” She smiled wickedly. “I had a feeling they wouldn’t be able to sit back when an heir to the Tiger’s mantle appeared, and I was right. So now I have you and your friend…and the technology that makes you so strong.”  
  
Knight hissed.  _This…this whole thing…it was to get PROSPERO tech? All those deaths, the international tension…_  
  
“You’ll come in  _very_ handy for the coming fighting,” the woman continued. “When the dust settles, those who believe in a truly free Malaysia will have the technology to back up their courage.”  
  
_Well. This is it, then._ Taking a deep breath, Knight brought up her self-destruction system, ordering detonation. Then cursed as an error message appeared.  _No! Damn it, they can’t…_  
  
She felt herself being dragged suddenly, pulled bodily along the ground into the jungle.  
  
_Take it easy. Wait for an opportunity._  
  
Right now, though, she had a hard time imagining just what kind of opportunity could present itself.

***

 **Eight miles south of Malay-Thai Border, Perak Province, 18th July 1956, 23:15**  
  
_James struggled to rise, as the Tiger moved closer. “Know this, British man,” he hissed. “No matter how many your government sends after me, no matter how strong they are, they will fail. A people awakened cannot be defeated.”_  
  
_James growled. “I…wouldn’t say…they’re awakened. We’ve…been helping…your…people fight Communism. They…seem fairly happy…with Britain.” He spat, and feared it was blood he was spitting up. “Hard…not to…I suppose, when…British Army doctors…are curing their children…and patching up wounds…they got from Communists.”_  
  
_The Tiger scowled. “And your propagandists play up the differences between Chinese and Malay very well. If we hate each other enough, you can control us better. That and bribing the Sultans.” He drew his arm back. “Well, that ends today.”_  
  
_“No. It doesn’t.”_  
  
_The words slammed down with finality as Winston exploded out of the night, barreling into the Tiger and bearing the man to the ground through sheer weight. As both fell, Winston grabbed his throat, pressing down hard. “Not today. You’re not killing my officer, you filthy bastard.”_  
  
_The Tiger kicked upwards, sending Winston flying backwards, then lunged forwards, claws raking at where the Maori lay…only to close on earth as Winston managed to roll sideways quickly, then spring back to his feet and swing a vicious punch to the side of the man’s head. He fell, and Winston was on his back now, forcing his face into the earth._  
  
_More gunfire rang out as Andrew tried to hold back the now-advancing guerrillas, who were moving forward to the support of their leader. Hissing with the agony, James reached to his belt, fumbling a black sphere from it and swiping his thumb across the arming mechanism. With his last reserve of strength, he threw it._  
  
_The sonic grenades weren’t reverse-engineered. There’d been a stock in the ship, and it was nearly exhausted now. Orders were to only issue them for this kind of mission, and only to use them in truly desperate situations until such time as PROSPERO scientists were able to get to making their own copies. But James was fairly confident that the situation was desperate enough._  
  
_The wave of sonic energy that washed out knocked over a large cluster of guerrillas, bringing them down hard. The rest hastily pulled back. James wasn’t looking now, though. His attention was fixed on the fight between Winston and the Tiger. The Malay was writhing, struggling to get up – clearly having trouble breathing. Ignoring the pain in his chest and stomach, James forced himself to begin moving towards the fight,_  
  
_No sooner had he started moving than somehow, the Tiger was able to flip Winston over his shoulder. Winston managed to twist in midair, landing on his feet, but then the Tiger struck. His claws lanced out, shearing Winston’s right hand off. Somehow, he didn’t scream, just stumbled backwards,_  
  
No. Not him.  
_  
James summoned the last of his strength and charged the Tiger, smashing into his back and grappling him, while Andrew loomed up in front of him and fired the last of his Sten’s clip, at point-blank range. The bullets slammed into the man’s chest and face, but he managed still to get his arm free and punch Andrew. The Australian fell without a sound, and the Tiger spun to face James._  
  
_“You…devil…” James wheezed._  
  
_“Devil? I’m fighting to free my people from foreign rule.”_  
  
_“By…killing your people…for harvesting rubber for us?”_  
  
_“If you weren’t here in the first place…” The Tiger hissed. “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”_  
  
_He raised his arms, for the final blow…only to start to whirl again as Winston appeared, face flushed and dripping with sweat, pain written in every piece of his expression, but still moving. “No…” he growled. “But…that doesn’t matter. We’ve a job to do.”_  
  
_The Tiger slashed left and right, but Winston powered straight through, barreling into him and taking the man’s head between both arms. The claws bit deep into his sides, but he held on…then, in one painful motion,_ twisted.  
  
_James could hear the crack echo across the camp. And, finally, the Tiger dropped, falling into a limp pile on the ground._  
  
_A second later, Winston was – somehow – helping him back to his feet. “Come on, sir,” he murmured. “We’ve…a ways to go…”_  
  
_“Need to get a tourniquet on you…” James managed._  
  
_“Suit took care of that. Just…hurts.” Winston looked out. “Looks like...they’re legging it.”_  
  
_James looked around. It looked that way indeed._ It was probably the Tiger who was keeping them together in the first place…  
  
_He hissed. “Two…good men dead…” And not even able to be buried – the suits were already burning as their self-destruct. “Your hand…”_  
  
_“Don’t mind it, sir.”_  
  
_The two of them stumbled for the gap blown in the camp wall. James had no idea where they were going, but…_ where there’s life, there’s bloody well hope.  
  
_He looked at Winston, then set his jaw and did his best to support the swaying man, just as Winston was supporting him. “You…get me back…” he hissed. “And…I’ll make sure…you get back to your girl. We…work together.”_  
  
_“When haven’t we, sir?” Pain still filled the other man’s voice, but there was solid determination there. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve…any other options.”_  
  
_Determination…and a hint of grim humour. “I suppose…not.”_  
  
Don’t let him die, Lord. Not one more on my conscience.  
  
  
**Twelve miles south of Malay-Thai border, 4th July 2015, 18:00**  
  
The undergrowth parted, and Su Lin pulled herself out and onto her feet, biting down a scream of pain as it flared up in her immobile left arm.  
  
She looked about herself, trying desperately to slow her racing heart down.  _Relax. Relax. There’s nobody anywhere here._  
  
_Nobody._ She bit her lip, then shoved her goggles up her face, clutching her eyes as the tears flowed. The men who’d escorted her every time she’d been up here in the border country, all dead. The two British soldiers, dead. And…and… Anahera had been so nice, and she’d…  
  
_So many brave people dead, and here I am. How can I tell their families? I…_  
  
All of a sudden, she wanted so much to be back at home. Either with her family, eating her mother’s cooking, or in her dorm in college. She wanted to be curled up under her Snuggy, eating candy and watching  _Space Pirate Jenny_ or…  
  
She spun quickly at the sound of something heavy crashing through the undergrowth, desperately squinting to try to see what it was. Then she squeaked loudly as a heavy hand grabbed her and dragged her down into some kind of bush. A second later, she felt a large hand cover her mouth.  _No! Help…_  
  
“Sssssh, little firefly.” She heard the voice murmur in her ear. A low, musical voice with a New Zealand accent. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to scare you, but we’ve got to keep it down.”  
  
Su Lin nodded and relaxed, feeling tears of relief prick her eyes.  
  
Ice ran through her spine a second later as she heard the sound of men moving through the jungle right next to the bush. “…thought I heard something,” she heard someone say.  
  
“You’re imagining things,” another said. “If they were still alive, they wouldn’t be around here. They’d be heading south as fast as they could. And if they’re dead, they could be anywhere.”  
  
“Well, we’d better find  _something._ The Tiger wants the bodies of those two metas. Or them alive, if possible. She really wants to see if the traitor’s powers can be replicated.”  
  
Su Lin tensed. That was  _her_ they were talking about. And she could imagine  _just_ how the Tiger would be trying to work out how her powers worked.  
  
Anahera didn’t say anything. But the way her arm tightened around Su Lin helped steady the young hero. Told her that the other woman would fight to the death before she let either of them be taken.  
  
Eventually, she heard the guerrillas moving away. Anahera waited for what seemed like an eternity afterwards before she let Su Lin go and rolled over onto her back. Hastily, Su Lin pulled her goggles down, letting the world come back into focus. “Thank you,” she whispered.  
  
Anahera grinned tiredly. “Like I’d let anything happen to you…” Her face was covered with sweat, and her breating was ragged. As Su Lin looked at her, she noticed a nasty wound just between her chest and stomach.  
  
“You’re hurt!” Instantly, Su Lin was pressing down on the wound with her right hand  
  
“Don’t bother… Anahera was fumbling a flat pack out of her combat gear. “Here. Two things: a spray; and a syringe. You’ll need to put the spray on the wound…then hit me with the syringe, stop infection.”  
  
“I’ll do my best. I think my left arm’s broken.”  
  
“Nah. I can tell – it’s just dislocated. If you can get me patched up, I’ll help with that.”  
  
Kye Lin hastily opened the pack – holding it in her right hand, using her teeth to undo the zip – as Anahera rolled her top up. The material and the skin beneath were drenched in blood, but there was gauze in the pack to clean around the wound. Or…something that approximated gauze, it seemed to expand as Su Lin used it. It worked, though, cleaning around the wound and leaving her with an unobstructed view.  
  
Actually, there were three. Three deep, jagged wounds in a row. They didn’t seem to have hit anything vital, though – by some miracle. Su Lin hastily raised the spray and played it over the wounds.  
  
She hadn’t been expecting the wounds to bubble and close, replaced by what looked like new skin. Rather pink and tender-looking new skin, but still… “How…” she began.  
  
“It’s new. Costs a bloody fortune to make, so it’s only used in absolute emergencies, but they’re hoping to change that, make it more widely available. I’ll need the syringe now.”  
  
Nodding, Su Lin quickly uncapped the needle, then inserted it and pressed the plunger down. Anahera convulsed, clearly biting back a scream, then slumped back, making the young hero look at her in horror. “What…what…”  
  
“Relax. That stuff hurts like hell.” A tired smile greeted her concern. “It’s like the ultimate guarantor against infection. One hit and any germs taken in through a wound are just…gone.”  
  
Su Lin frowned. That could be so useful… “Is it also too expensive to mass-produce?”  
  
“No, just very new. The NHS in Britain has been quietly using it in some of their hospitals for the last month – released through a front. They’re hoping to get it right across the Commonwealth in about a year.” Anahera smiled more easily now. “Thanks.”  
  
“No problem.” Doing her best to ignore the pain in her arm, Su Lin worked on getting the cleaning up done.  
  
As she cleaned, she couldn’t help but stare. The other woman was  _incredibly_ muscular: her stomach and chest were lined with muscle like ridges on thick cord. Su Lin had never seen anyone – man or woman, real-life or media – so well-muscled, and it was definitely  _part_ of her, not artificial the way weight-lifters’ could be. And the skin was  _covered_ with the most intricate tattoos that she’d ever seen.  
  
“H-have you always been so strong, or…”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, the muscle and my size are all natural. They didn’t have to work on that. I’ve had internal work done, yeah, but that was to jack up my nervous system. This…hard work and Polynesian genes.”  
  
“Amazing.”  
  
“Thanks.” Anahera sat up. “Though we need to do something about your arm now.” She moved over, wincing a little.  
  
Su Lin did her best not to shrink away. “I…OK.” She bit her lip as Anahera touched her arm.  
  
The Maori paused, then reached down and picked up a stick. “Here. Bite down on this. This is gonna hurt, we don’t want you biting your tongue.”  
  
The young superheroine gulped, but nodded and did as instructed. She blinked back the tears that were already starting from the pain of her arm being touched.  
  
One of Anahera’s hands rested on her left shoulder, the other took her left wrist. “OK. I’m gonna do it on three. Ready?” As Su Lin nodded, she tensed. “Right… _one._ ”  
  
Anahera had been right. It  _did_ hurt. It took a lot of effort for Su Lin not to cry out, and the stick nearly broke between her teeth.  
  
But her arm was fixed.  
  
As she dropped the stick and flexed her fingers, she was surprised when Anahera put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. “That was  _incredibly_ brave. I’ve known SAS men and women who’d have screamed the jungle down.”  
  
“I’m…not sure that’s true, but thanks.” Su Lin felt herself relaxing, but glared suddenly. “Though…you said on three!”  
  
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t hurt as much when you’re not expecting it. That’s what they say, anyway.”  
  
“If that’s true, I’d hate to think what it  _could_ have been like.”  
  
Anahera laughed. “For such a shy girl, you’ve got a solid core to you.”  
  
Su Lin felt herself blush, but smiled. For a short while, the danger they were in – and the sadness of the day – floated away a little.  
  
A little, but not forever. “So…what do we do now?”  
  
“We were meant to be picked up by helicopter once the mission was done. I can get you to the pick-up point, then go back for the others…”  
  
“What? They’re…they’re alive?” Su Lin felt her heart soaring.  
  
“Well, Knight and Squire definitely are. And a couple of your people got taken too. Couple more managed to go bush, I think – I missed a lot.” Anahera’s jaw set. “And I’m not leaving my mates behind. This mission isn’t going to go like the one did against the previous Tiger.”  
  
“Of course we’re not leaving them behind. But if you’re going, then I’m coming with you.”  
  
Anahera’s eyes went wide. “What? No way! I’m getting you out of here.”  
  
“You’ll need help! I can help, my power’s not the best in the world but it could be…”  
  
Anahera opened her mouth, then closed it again. She seemed to think, hard, about what to say. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said eventually. “You’re a great girl – I haven’t known you very long, granted, but I’m a good judge of character usually. You’re one of the sweetest, most uncomplicated people I’ve ever met, and I can see why you’re a successful superhero. But that doesn’t make you a  _soldier._ Like…have you ever killed anyone?”  
  
Su Lin tensed. “N-no. But I’ve helped with militant suppression – my power’s let us capture…”  
  
“Right, right. But you’ve never done it.” Anahera paused again. “More than that. You’ve never had to kill someone in cold blood. Some poor sod who doesn’t know you’re there, who doesn’t even have a chance against you, because if you leave him alive it could interfere with the mission.” Her face softened. “That’s not a failing, girly. It’s a  _good_ thing. And I’m sure you’ve done a lot of good things, stopped a lot of dangerous people…but even so, you’re still an innocent.” She coughed. “I don’t want to lead you into danger…and I don’t want to take that innocence from you. That’d be just as bad as getting you killed.”  
  
Between everything that had happened, and the kind sincerity in Anahera’s voice, Su Lin was having a hard time keeping from crying. “I…I appreciate that. But…” She looked up, voice cracking. “Captain bin Osman and his men wouldn’t have been here at all, except to provide security for me. That’s how it works: I put the bad guys out of action, they swoop in and pick them up. Because I’m not strong, like you.” Anahera raised a hand, but Su Lin kept talking. “Th-that means, the men who died…that’s my fault. That’s on me. And if any of them are still alive, that’s on me too. I have to bring them home.”  
  
“No! Look, they’re professional soldiers, they knew the score…this is  _absolutely_ not your fault, your government should  _never_ have put you in harm’s way like this…”  
  
“Please! I…I can’t go and tell their families that I just left them there…”  
  
“That shouldn’t be your responsibility, it should be their CO’s…hell, you’re just a kid…”  
  
“ _Please_. They…they always took care of me. I owe them.”  
  
Anahera sighed deeply. “You know I could just carry you to the pick-up point, you wouldn’t be able to stop me?” she asked.  
  
“I know. But please.”  
  
Another sigh. Then a nod. “Alright. I can understand why, even if I don’t think you bear any responsibility for this.” A tired smile followed. “But…gotta say, I admire you for that decision.”  
  
“Thank you.” Su Lin paused. “So…what do we do?”  
  
“We follow them, we observe, and we try to formulate a plan.” Anahera laughed suddenly. “Won’t be that difficult. Dragging an armoured suit through undergrowth…yeah, that leaves a definite trail.”  
  
* * *  
  
Knight did her best not to look too closely at the counter. It was hard, though.  
  
"How's the air in there?" she heard the Tiger call. "It's been a while."  
  
Knight forced herself not to change her breathing. She needed to keep it together.  
  
As well as trapping her suit, the epoxy solution had been used to cover her suit's air intake/filtration vents and the compressor intake, leaving her with the internal tanks. Which were down to quarter of an hour.  
  
Only the knowledge that she'd get a bullet in the brainpan if she opened her helmet prevented her from doing so. Right now, while she might die from suffocation, she was still alive and as long as she was alive, she had some hope of extricating herself and Squire. Along with the few Malaysian soldiers taken alive.  
  
She was lying on a metal shelf in a small, nondescript shack. The enemy base looked like a mirror image of the village they'd been in earlier - no walls, no visible defences, and a lot of fairly basic buildings. But there were defences, heavily automated ones too. And the inside of this shack was filled with an array of scientific machinery.  
  
"Your friend just finished his scan," the Tiger continued. "My doctors are very excited - they'll be even more so once we open him up, but..."  
  
Knight tried for the thousandth time to break free, or at least get her weapons unblocked. And failed again. "If you touch him, you'll die. Maybe not to me, but you'll be hunted down..."  
  
"Oh, I think that Her Majesty's government will have bigger fish to fry, quite quite soon." The Tiger was standing over Knight now. "Especially when the Thais find out that Malay cross-border insurgents killed their beloved Arhat. I'd been hoping to lure him out as well as you. Once we disguise things to make it look like he died on their side..." The small woman paused, then laughed somewhat. "It's funny, you know. I'll guess that your suit cost...oh, billions to make. But the stuff holding you? Mostly standard epoxy. I mixed it with something else, to be sure - something that a friend provided, that's what makes it tougher to break - but it's not something that I needed the weight of a whole country behind me to make."  
  
Knight nodded sourly. " 'Two thousand pounds of education...'"  
  
" 'Falls to a ten-rupee jezail." The Tiger grinned. "Very appropriate, and very true."  
  
As she talked, Knight flicked her sonic emitters to another frequency. She'd been trying them for a while now, trying to locate a frequency that would shatter this bloody stuff.  
  
"You set all this up...just to draw us to you?" she asked.  
  
"Partially. I knew that my style of doing things might...open old wounds for whoever your organisation is..."  
  
"I'm rather amazed you knew there even was an organisation. We've kept ourselves hidden for quite a while."  
  
"From intelligence services, yes. And there's no written records. But...even when told to keep silent, peasants saved by mysterious soldiers can gossip. Not the kind of thing intelligence agents listen to, of course. But anyway: it was partly to draw you out, and partly at the bidding of another. Someone I was introduced to: he promised a supply of weapons and other items, if I could stir up trouble between Malaysia and Thailand, conflict that would draw in Britain and Japan. Both of these furthered my ultimate aim, of course. A war would see the current Malaysian government bankrupted and on shaky ground. So when, in the aftermath of war, I rise up with an army equipped with your technology..."  
  
"They wouldn't put up much of a fight," Knight finished. "And if Britain and Australia have just emerged from a major war, then you think they won't come running to support the current regime."  
  
"Exactly." The woman beamed. “Malaysia gets a new government, and the people who’ve been propping up the current regime aren’t able to interfere.”  
  
“To remove the ‘British influence’, am I right?”  
  
“Somewhat. I mean, how can we say that Malaysia is truly free when its rulers are all educated in British schools, universities and military academies? How can we say that Malaysia is truly free when Anglo-Australian corporations extract our resources and have such a prominent place in our economy?” She paused. “But it’s not just that. I could tolerate that, if the government was a decent one. But many of our elected politicians and our various monarchs are reactionaries, either by choice or to shore up their power with religious elements.” She looked away, blinking once or twice. “I have personal experience of this. Of what it’s done to my family… But _this_ is the government that Britain and Australia support. And one that they will support against enemies both internal and external, because it recognises that it needs Anglo-Australian support and so it bends over backwards to allow them access to the nation’s resource wealth."  
  
“And you think that you’ll be able to make things last? Even if Britain and Australia don’t try to stop you, then someone else will.”  
  
“Not if we offer them something in exchange for supporting us. China would probably be quite glad to treat with a new government that offers them a good de. And…well, the Lane administration’s gained a reputation for fairness and supporting truly democratic governments around the world.”  
  
Knight had to admit, that much was true. President Lane was someone who truly believed in standing up for those in need. That had governed her policies both at home – her job programmes, her massive investment in public education, including the construction of multiple new public schools across America, creating several Presidential scholarships and ramming through a bill making college tuition tax-deductible, something that had already benefited a great many people – and abroad, with her support of a number of fledgling democratic governments and provision of aid to allow them to get back on their feet. “You think you can get her on-side?”  
  
“Not for my seizure of power. The British are an American ally of long standing, after all. But if she’s presented with a done deal, and a democratic secular government is imposed…well, she’ll probably view us in a more favourable light.”  
  
_She might do, at that. But_ … “And how many people will die in the war? And in your uprising after the war?”  _To try to bring these things to a state that has them already..._  
  
“Too many. But no change for the better can happen without sacrifice, whether of lives or money or traditions.”  
  
The Tiger leant over Knight. “Anyway…how’s your timer doing?”  
  
Knight looked.  _Five minutes._ She swallowed, and flicked to another frequency. She had to break this. Break it now. If she wanted to save the others, to save herself…  
  
* * *  
  
“Well,” Anahera observed, eying the village below, “we’d never have found it otherwise. No wonder satellite and aerial recon never spotted it – it’s exactly like dozens of rural settlements in this region, on both sides of the border.”  
  
Su Lin paused, cocking her head. “Though…shouldn’t their power have shown up? I mean, those defences wouldn’t be getting their power from nowhere.”  
  
“Agreed. My guess is…something not exactly mundane. There’s more than a few things that could provide the energy, that my bosses know of.” She considered. “Though they’re probably using more…standard ways of transferring power. We need to check that out, if you could knock ‘em out.”  
  
Su Lin thought. “I…I’d need to do this on a large scale. To try to knock things out all at once. But I’ve never…I mean, I’ve only ever done it by touch, and on a small-scale. People in Penang or Kuala Lumpur wouldn’t want their power off while I’m trying to stop bank robbers, after all!”  
  
“But you can do it bigger?”  
  
“I think so…”  
  
“All right then. You’ll do it, then I’ll scurry down and hammer these bastards to death. Simple.”  
  
“You might need help.” The voice made both women whirl, just in time to see a man in camouflague and wielding an SA80 appear.  
  
“Captain bin Osman!” Su Lin felt utter relief fill her, and she grabbed the man in a tight hug. “I thought you were dead!”  
  
“Thankfully I’m not, and thank God you’re not.” The man grinned widely. “My men would never have forgiven me if I’d lost you. They’d have haunted me through my life. But…God is great.” He looked toward Anahera. “And thank you, for keeping her safe.”  
  
Su Lin made an outraged face. “I can keep myself safe, thank you  _very_ much.” She paused. “Though…I’m so happy that she was here.”  
  
Anahera indicated a couple of shacks. “I think that our people are in those. And I also think that the shacks are semi-bunkers. The shacks hide subterranean sections, giving them additional space.” She indicated the rest of the ‘village’. “We can get in that way – that track takes us on a clear run in, away from the other buildings. We just need to disable the weaponry.”  
  
Su Lin swallowed. “So…so it’s all on me.”  
  
Anahera squeezed her hand. “You can do it. I know you can.”  
  
“I’ll…I’ll try.”  
  
Looking down, Su Lin settled down, cross-legged, touching the earth. Touching where the power lines for the automated defences would have to run Then began breathing in, and out. Like her parents had taught her, to try to help her concentrate.  
  
She felt a brief pang as she thought of them. She wasn’t exactly the daughter they’d expected, in many ways, and they pointedly weren’t  _too_ curious about her day-to-day life in America (though they always enjoyed hearing her  _academic_  news, to tell their friends and extended family), but they loved her to bits. And they worried so…  _How would they feel, if they got news that I’d died?_  
  
She forced her attention away, forced herself to concentrate. She didn’t want any of the people down below’s families learning that they’d died.  
  
She could feel the power building inside herself, as Anahera and Captain bin Osman slipped down, moving closer and closer. Building, growing more and more. She kept it contained, let it build higher and higher…  
  
* * *  
  
Two minutes. Knight desperately shifted frequency.  
  
The Tiger nodded once as she lowered her hand. “Your friend is ready. I’m going to get to work on that.”  
  
“No! Don’t you touch him!”  
  
“I’m not going to do this for enjoyment. But if my plans are to succeed, we  _need_ every ounce of technology your people have.”  
  
Knight snarled, trying to throw herself from the shelf…  
  
Suddenly, her HUD flickered and flashed, and multiple warning icons appeared.  _Wha-? EMP? But this suit’s shielded…_  
  
Suddenly, the HUD was back to normal. But the lights had gone out.  
  
The Tiger was yelling. “Come in! Come in, what’s going on? Respond!”  
  
Knight looked down. And…as she did, she noted that the odd sheen to the epoxy had gone. She flicked on her sonics again.  
  
“Fuck!” The Tiger was cursing now. “Power’s out across the base – entirely drained. Looks like our power lines weren’t as well-shielded as I thought…”  
  
She turned back, just as the epoxy shattered and Knight rose to her feet, air intake valves open and weapon ports unblocked. “As I was saying, you’re not touching Squire,” she growled, firing her dart-launchers.  
  
The armour-piercing darts punched into the Tiger hard, sending her flying through the shack’s wall. Knight followed, barreling through what remained as the smaller woman rose, wounds already closing over. She leapt at Knight, claws flashing, and the hooked metal backed by super-strength scored a deep line across her chest. She drove forward…then Knight caught it on her wrist-blades, then fired her lasers. Power was low, they weren’t operating at their full strength, but they still burnt lines across the woman’s shoulders and face. The Tiger leapt away, rolling then springing back to her feet and launching herself forward again.  
  
* * *  
  
Gunfire rang out from all around, as the guerrillas boiled from their hideouts. A mass of them appeared before Tangaroa and Kalip, but they barely had time to fire before Tangaroa was on top of them, her enhanced strength allowing her to throw them aside like dolls.  
  
More were appearing, but Kalip ran forward and slammed her fist into the ground, unleashing electricity through it and making them fall and twitch. Only a few on the fringes were left, and Captain bin Osman’s SA80 put paid to them.  
  
_I never did that before._ But then again, she’d never drawn so much energy into herself before.  
  
Tangaroa emerged from amidst the enemy, leaving a heap of men in her wake. She shook herself, then opened up with her shoulder-gun. Kalip and the Captain moved forward under her cover, making straight for the two huts at the centre.  
  
The Captain tackled Kalip to the ground as a pair of men emerged from the nearer hut. He fired a three-round burst, hitting one in the chest, but they both ran at them full-tilt, roaring at the top of their lungs.  
  
Bin Osman leapt to his feet, only to take a punch that sent him flying back. Then the man reached down and lifted Kalip up by her throat. One-handedly.  
  
Fear flooded her. But it didn’t stop her putting a hand on the man’s arm and letting more of the energy stored within her into him, far more than she’d normally use for stunning someone.  
  
He convulsed, then – after what felt like an eternity – he fell.  
  
Dropping to the ground, Kalip rolled and turned, looking for the other one. He was standing over Captain bin Osman, drawing a foot back to stamp on his chest.  
  
Suddenly, Tangaroa was there, slamming into him with the force of a charging elephant. She rocked back at a punch from him – a punch that likely would have killed a normal person – then lunged forwards, attacking with two hard blows.  
  
As the two dueled, Kalip saw more men – these ones were normal, she thought, running forward. Coming up behind Tangaroa…  
  
She darted forwards, then leapt down to the ground and placed both hands on the earth, pouring the last of the stored energy into it. A second later, they were all falling, shocked into unconsciousness.  
  
Looking up, she was just in time to see the huge Maori rising from over the still form of the man. Rising, and pressing on.  
  
* * *  
  
The blow was enough to send Knight flying back, even with the full weight of her suit. She struggled to her feet, just in time for the Tiger to leap on top of her, punching downwards. The blades punched right through the front of Knight’s visor, through plexiglass able to withstand anti-material bullets...but it just avoided touching her skin. She punched up with her blades, feeling them run deep.  
  
“I…I heal too quickly, girl,” the Tiger snarled, pulling away.  
  
Knight heaved, hurling the woman off her and rolling to her side, rising gradually. Her suit whined as she tried to lift herself…only for a kick to land her on her back again. The Tiger pounced upon her, punching down again. This time, the blades dug through armour, stabbing into Knight’s left shoulder. She bit down on her scream and fired the last of her darts, striking the Tiger in the chest and knocking her down, then rising again.  
  
She just managed to dodge a blow from a tough-looking man as she regained her feet, a blow that nearly knocked her down. He pushed forward, attacking with hate in his eyes and enhanced strength.  
  
Enhanced strength, but not much science behind his blows. And without any ranged weaponry. A laser-beam dealt with him. Unfortunately, there were two more, moving to support the Tiger, along with several normal-looking men.  
  
Then, suddenly, there was Tangaroa, leaping forwards. Together with what looked like the men who’d been taken prisoner, now re-armed. Gunfire rang out, and Tangaroa lunged into combat with the enhanced men.  
  
Knight pressed the attack again, her lasers burning flesh. Flesh that healed again, even as pieces of Knight’s armour flew off. The armour that should have stood up to anything short of a tank’s main gun.  
  
She couldn’t last. This woman was too strong. And at full power the lasers could have carved right through her, but right now they were doing nothing. If she couldn’t get a killing blow…  
  
An idea.  
  
She slashed at the woman, then let herself be blocked and let the woman pull her down, pinning her. “You’re not going to win here. Not today,” the Tiger told her, pulling her claws back for a final – decapitation – strike.  
  
“I will.”  
  
One more laser shot. But not at the centre of mass now. This time, it hit the Tiger in the eyes. She screamed and fell back, clutching at her face as she collapsed to the ground.  
  
Knight rose, standing on the blind woman and pinning her to the ground. The Tiger stared about, blindly and bleakly. “So. This is how it ends? Your blades can get past my skin, a strike to the heart would probably kill me. Or you could cut my head off.”  
  
Knight paused. She should do. But… “No. Not today. You’re coming with us.” Reaching down, she pulled the claws off the other woman’s hands.  
  
“I see. For interrogation, I suppose?” She shook her head. “Do you even care why I did all this? Or am I just an inconvenient piece of grit in the British machine?”  
  
“Partly. I won’t deny that.” Knight paused. “But also…people like me exist so that ordinary people don’t die. What we did today…you admitted your plan would lead to mass deaths. How many do you think we’ve saved? Especially young people. Who may end up changing this country – maybe the way you want it, maybe another way. But it’ll be  _their_  will, not yours.”  
  
All of a sudden, she felt very,  _very_ tired. But there was a while to go yet…  
  
* * *  
  
**RAF Tengah, Singapore, 7th July 2015, 19:00**  
  
After an extended period of time in it, Beryl was enjoying being out of her suit. A  _lot._  
  
“…and so, now that tensions are de-escalating in the region,” the Prime Minister was saying on television, “we may finally return to our normal, cordial relations with all parties in South-East Asia. But ally and enemy around the world should take note: Britain takes its friendships seriously. Both we and Australia have sworn to defend Malaysia’s sovereignty against  _any_  who would usurp it, and we have done so. And will do so in future.”  
  
“He talks too much, but he’s got fire in his belly,” Colonel Pennyworth observed from behind the desk.  
  
“Yes, sir.” Beryl hadn't voted for his Party - she was a Tory, not a Lib Dem - but the PM had grown on her. As a former military man himself, he saw the need to maintain Britain's defences. And thanks to new taxes, he'd still kept his election pledges of more funding and facilities for the NHS. The grandson of post-war Caribbean immigrants, he knew the importance of social funding. Beryl admired anyone - especially politicians - who kept their promises, even when they had some wrong ideas.  
  
She paused. “Any news on the Tiger?”  
  
“Safely transported to Britain. Don’t concern yourself, we’re not about to do to her what she was going to do to Squire. A few blood tests, some MRI scans, and life imprisonment. Of course, as far as the wider world is concerned, she’s as dead as her predecessor.”  
  
“Quite.”  
  
The Colonel looked at her. “Captain…are you alright? The mission was a success, you’ve averted a potential war and neutralised a dangerous metahuman, and you got your team back. Your team are enjoying some well-deserved leave, you should be too.”  
  
“I will, sir. I just…” Beryl sighed. “I was in charge of the op, and it nearly all fell apart. To a bunch of ragged guerrillas…”  
  
“Guerrillas equipped with high-tech weaponry and led by a metahuman.” Pennyworth rose. “You got blindsided, yes. But you’re hardly the first good soldier that that’s happened to. And in the end, your team came through for you.”  
  
“And our Malaysian friend. And her commandos – though too many of them didn’t come home.”  
  
“Of course.” Pennyworth looked at her. “Look… You were up against an enemy we didn’t understand, an enemy we underestimated. Not you,  _we_. All of us. I should have sent a much bigger team in, but I just went with you three. If you had failed, that would’ve been on  _me._ ”  
  
“Still…it feels like I just blundered through…”  
  
“You got through because of your team. Because you knew to pick Lieutenant Ihimaera.” The Colonel raised a finger. “I said this to you the first day you transferred in. Why do we fall?”  
  
Beryl looked at him. “So we can pick ourselves up again, Colonel.”  
  
“That’s a girl. Now, go and enjoy your time off. You’ve got the better part of a month, on top of the leave you’ve already saved up, so don’t say I never give you anything.”  
  
Saluting, Beryl turned and walked out.  
  
She kept thinking on it as she crossed the airfield and made for the security barrier. Despite what he said, she still felt that she’d nearly got them all killed. That she’d underestimated a cunning enemy…  
  
She forced a smile to her face as she passed the barrier, and came up to a car parked outside. It became a bit more genuine as a young Chinese man walked around to the other side and opened the door. “Hello, Gabriel,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming – I could have made it back to Hong Kong…”  
  
“Anything that lets me see you that bit sooner is good.” Gabriel Wang grinned back at her, her face reflected in his glasses.  
  
She took him in her arms, feeling tension ebb out of her body as they embraced. He blinked at the tightness of her grip. “Are…are you OK? Was the training course hard?”  
  
She shut her eyes, wishing she didn’t have to lie. “Yes. I’m so glad it’s over, you know? Doesn’t ever seem to get easier.”  
  
“Well, I’ll try to help you get over that.”  
  
“You always do manage, Gabriel. You always do.”  
  
* * *  
  
Su Lin didn’t go out too much. Well, not to bars anyway. Movies, yes. All the latest sci-fi, fantasy and other such movies, she’d go to with her besties. And for food. And shopping for comic books and DVDs. And parties in houses. And stuff like that. But she wasn’t much of a bar person.  
  
This one, though, was fairly quiet. “You…you like jazz?” she asked.  
  
Anahera nodded from across the blue-lit table, grinning. “Yeah. I never really took to more modern types of music. It was always classical and jazz for me. And traditional music.”  
  
Su Lin sipped her wine. “I’m a bit of a bubblegum-pop girl, I admit. But I like this. That guy on piano is  _good._ ”  
  
As Anahera nodded, Su Lin couldn’t stop staring at her. Somehow, she hadn’t expected the tall Maori to arrive in a  _dress._ And she  _definitely_ hadn’t been prepared for how amazing it’d look.  
  
“So.” Anahera looked at her. “Are you OK? I know you insisted on breaking the news in person.”  
  
“Well, as Kalip. Nobody knows my real identity. Except you and your friends.” Su Lin fiddled with her glasses. “But, I did. It was…” She sniffed a little. “I wish they’d yelled at me, or blamed me. But they were all so  _stoic._ ”  
  
Anahera took her hands and squeezed them. “I know. I’ve had similar times, believe me. I remember, my granddad told me that was the worst part of the job.”  
  
“Your grandfather was a soldier too?”  
  
“Yes.” Anahera dropped her voice. “He was on the mission to kill the first Tiger. And he was the only one to make it back. He left his three best mates and his hand in that jungle. ‘Course I didn’t find out until I joined…my friends.” She’d put a surreptitious jamming device under the table, so they couldn’t be listened in on, and the booth was right at the back of the bar and away from other occupied tables.…but it was as well not to take risks. But then he told me.” She paused. “He said…he basically tried everything he could to get his last mate home. But he couldn’t. But the worst part was…his mate, his officer, was  _fighting_ to make sure granddad was the one got home. He said that made it so much worse, that he’d let his friend down when his friend fought so hard for him.”  
  
Su Lin nodded, blinking. “That’s…that’s exactly how I felt.”  
  
“Aw, c’mere.” Anahera moved around the leather seat and hugged her gently, cradling her head to a broad shoulder. “With any luck, the shit around the border’s all over now. You can focus on normal crime for a while – that and your public appearances – and then you’ll be off back to college.”  
  
“Mmm.” Right now, the idea of being back in college was very,  _very_ appealing.  
  
They were silent for a while, then Su Lin spoke again. “Thank you for asking me to come out. I…I’m not the most social…”  
  
“I know. Kinda guessed that one.” Anahera grinned. “But everyone needs to let their hair down every so often. Even heroes. Just as long as you don’t mind spending time with a brute of a soldier.”  
  
“You’re not a brute!” Su Lin blushed, then lowered her voice. “And…why would I? You’re a hero too.”  
  
“Hardly. Like I said…you’re an innocent. I’m not.”  
  
“But you save lives. How many did your mission save?”  
  
Anahera looked up sharply, as though sensing sarcasm. Then smiled slowly. “A lot of people wouldn’t accept that argument.”  
  
“I’m not exactly a lot of people. I’m rather different. But…you’re one of the bravest, strongest and most heroic people I’ve met. I couldn’t do what you do, and there might be things that…I wouldn’t like to think about, but I know that…” She dropped her voice. “That you stopped what could have been a war. One that my parents could have been caught up in.”  
  
“ _We_ stopped, little firefly.” Anahera raised a finger. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else. It’s a lovely evening, so...we’ll chat, or go somewhere livelier and dance if you want.”  
  
“This is perfect. And…I feel like talking.”  
  
“Great. And my CO got us all some good leave-time, so we can repeat the process a few times.”  
  
It took Su Lin a little time to think of something good to talk about, but she managed. And Anahera didn’t seem to mind the wait.  
  
* * *  
  
**Undisclosed location, British Isles**  
  
The room was comfortable, at least. And her jailers had agreed to arrange tuition in Braille.  
  
The Tiger lay back on her bed, and sighed. Her plans had been brought to naught, and the technology that her benefactor had shared had been taken by the enemy.  
  
Still, though… She was alive. Alive, in good health, and being treated relatively humanely. And where there was life, there was hope.  
  
She hoped the tutors came soon, though. It would be some time before her ruined eyes regenerated, and she didn’t want to get bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is establishing three important aspects of this world--its multipolarity, the extended period of colonialism and reform rather than revolution, and the state-sponsored superhero phenomenon. 
> 
> First, divergences before and during the Second World War and the seizure of a crashed alien spacecraft by the British government have allowed the Brits and select trade pals to hold on to power and maintain regional power blocs in the age of superpowers. In the same vein, the Japanese maintain a network of allies and puppets in Southeast Asia, after being an Allied co-belligerent against a particularly nasty fascist Chinese regime (as in our timeline, the Jiang Jieshi regime was quite friendly with the Third Reich--in No Trinity, the former regime simply regained control of all of China while Japan was lucky enough to be spared Hideki Tojo's criminal rule in favor of a more moderate Navy clique). Neither the British nor the Japanese are particularly /nice/ people, it must be said, but at least they provide steady employment and military and metahuman assets that poorer countries can't afford, so they keep a degree of power that both lack in our world. 
> 
> Second, the matter of colonialism. While the US has been leaning on the British and others of the No Trinity world to be less openly exploitative of their colonies, and by and large exploitation and oppression are far reduced from their prevalence in our timeline, people have long memories, and centuries of oppression and exploitation aren't magically erased by a few decades of cleaned-up acts and apologies. While some postcolonial regimes and Commonwealth partners are stable (for example, South Africa, having been mostly spared apartheid, and East Africa), others are more on the "failure" end of the colonial withdrawal process spectrum. Like our world, it's not pretty, not perfect, but could definitely have gone a lot worse, and the majority of people are not so upset with their lives that they're willing to rock the boat. 
> 
> Third, national supers. In a world with tens of thousands of people who can do things ranging from stunning people with a touch like Firefly in this story, to punching planets in half like Kara, metahumans are the ultimate military asset, far more precise than a nuclear weapon and ideal for inspiring the people by giving speeches while wearing a patriotic costume. As with conventional militaries, more wealthy, stable, and powerful countries can afford more powerful supers, so Malaysia (an important but in most matters rather sedate part of Britain's sphere of influence) has a girl who can knock people out with electric shocks and absorb electricity, while the USA, the world's most powerful country, can afford Audie Murphy (effectively Budget Superman), a team of mid-range supers, and black-ops agents with superpowers, and the British (#3 or #4 in the power rankings depending on if the EU counts as its own power) can afford some low-grade supers to smile and wave for the cameras and a dozen or so elite metahuman commandos. 
> 
> We plan to revisit national supers later in the story; currently the Finnish, Korean, Iraqi, and one of the Japanese supers have character sheets, we're working on more. :)


	8. World War Ares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is our first three-way collaboration, took way longer than we expected because we had to have a bunch of characters interacting and getting challenged and then threw in a new minor character just to spite President Orange Tumor. Don't read if you're a transphobe or like Donald Trump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since all three of the main authors think that Donald J Trump is a Nazi piece of shit who has no business running an anthill, much less the United States of America, when he decided to ban trans people from the US military despite all of his military advisers saying that it was a moronic and pointlessly evil idea, our first thought was to get some trans representation in here because fuck Donald Trump and his bigoted nonsense. Fortunately, I (worffan101) had already come up with a concept so I just threw him in because why not? 
> 
> Ares's depiction was primarily inspired by the DC Rebirth design, and by disappointment with his portrayal in the recent Wonder Woman movie. Ares should be a demonic figure of pure malice that terrifies all who see him, not some poncy British guy; having him be a poncy British guy cheapens Wondy's victory, IMO. He should at LEAST have flaming eyes under the helmet and speak with a deep intimidating voice so that the audience feels scared, making Wonder Woman's inevitable victory all the sweeter. 
> 
> We also had to brainstorm to find ways in which to actually challenge a Kryptonian without laying waste to the general vicinity. I hope that Diana's tactics make sense.

**The Hague, Europe**  
  
Jacob awoke with a start, sweating profusely. He looked around his room and identifying familiar points to ensure that he wasn't trapped in some insane dream castle, or back on his bunk in Colombia, or at his aunt's house, or any number of horrifying scenarios that had been plaguing him as of late. He get out of bed, placing his head in his hands and sighing.  
  
The clock read 3AM. It was going to be a big day tomorrow, but Jacob already knew that he wouldn't be sleeping any longer. He pulled out his phone, performing a rudimentary check on his agents. There was five names on the list - including Jack Napier and John Stewart. But his eyes were drawn to the name at the top.  
  
"Kate." Jacob whispered as he exited out of the app and saw his screensaver, a nearly ten year old picture of him and his daughter going to a boxing match. It's not often a man gets his daughter back from the dead. It all seemed so surreal. Like he could lose her again at any moment. Jacob stood up slowly, feeling his back creek unpleasantly from years of fighting and years sitting at a desk all day.  
  
"Maybe we can go running together, like we used to." Jacob tried to think happily as he limped over to the bathroom, his legs still asleep. Of course, his mind was occupied with other things, such as the recurring nightmare he had been having since that fateful day he received the Medal of Honor. It all seemed like years ago. The dream, however, seemed all too real, especially with the recent goings on.  
  
Nuclear war. He had the dream every night. That the world would end and he would be powerless. That he would lose his daughter again. Jacob leaned over the sink, staring at his pitiful reflection and running cool water over his face. And then, he heard a noise. Without waiting, Jacob brandished a pistol from behind the toilet, pointing it back into the main room where he had been sleeping and firing.  
  
All he saw was a pair of glowing eyes. He recognized them easy enough - Ares. Though it seemed insane to believe that the God of War was personally visiting him, Jacob had learned to stop being surprised by such things. He sighed.  
  
"Have you thought of my offer?" The demon asked from his spot lounging in Jacob's chair. Ares playfully flipped the bullet around each of his fingers, having stopped it with his bare hand. Jacob sighed.  
  
"Still thinking." Jacob replied wearily. And he was, he was really thinking about it. Peace by any means necessary, right?  
  
"Think quickly. Doomsday approaches fast, unless you act." Ares said with a smile.  
  
Jacob woke up in bed again. For a moment he wondered if it had all been just another bad dream. But his eyes were drawn to the corner of the room, where his bullet glinted in the moonlight just a few feet away from the lounge chair.  
  
"Yep, definitely not sleeping tonight."  
**  
Infinity Tower, Jump City**  
  
“We’ve got an incoming target...” Barbara said as she looked up from her smart watch which had blinked a calm red pattern that flash across her face. The group all looked at each other, each trapped in their own special way under a mound of blankets and pillows that had completely overtaken the central foyer of Infinity Tower.  
  
“But we’re only halfway through the movie! Can’t the bad guy wait?” Harley whined from her spot in Kate’s lap. Oliver stood up, groaning quietly as he stretched and his back made a cracking sound.  
  
“Any details?” He asked as Barbara had already moved to one of the many computers lining the walls and begun to further research the signal that had reached her watch.  
  
“One object… largish… doesn’t appear explosive. Ten seconds.” She rattled off the relevant information quickly. Already Oliver was checking the tension on his bow, still wearing his panda bear pajamas. Behind him, John was a lot more calm, just flipping his ring between his fingers. Meanwhile, Kate was digging through the crevices in the couch trying to find her sword - don’t ask how it got there.  
  
“Could be nothing.” John offered nonchalantly as he used his ring to float the bowl of popcorn over to his hand. Oliver put his hands on his hips.  
  
“Or it could be something.” Oliver replied like an impatient parent.  
  
“I hope it’s nothing... Or if it is something, hopefully it’s a good something!” Harley added in as she hung over the back of the couch while Kate was trying to stand in a semi-threatening position (made all the harder by her own set of silk pajamas).  
  
Before they could engage in any more banter, there was a light tapping sound outside of the main window. Barbara approached first, holding a knife behind her back while she was followed closely by Kate and Oliver. John sat on the couch, aiming his ring at the window. Barbara paused at the window.  
  
“Hey… don’t we know her?” She asked, her question punctuated by more tapping on the window. With a click of a button the window became transparent. John jumped to his feet.  
  
“Shayera!” He said, shoving his way past the other heroes to open the window. A gust of wind was let in, bringing an unwanted chill to the room. Harley curled herself further in her blanket while Shayera tried to talk.  
  
“We can’t hear you!” Harley said over the gust of wind.  
  
“What!?” Shayera yelled, louder now. Harley groaned and John grabbed Shayera gently by the shoulder, ushering her into the central foyer. Moments later, the window slammed shut behind her. Barbara pushed her now haphazard hair back into something that at least let her see.  
  
“Is this better!?” Shayera yelled as she dug her pinkie finger in her ears. John gave her a thumbs up - she looked tired. Shayera paused, gathering a breath in.  
  
“I found my husband.” She began. John looked at her, eyes wide but with a small smile.  
  
“That’s great!” He said. She shook her head, looking down.  
  
“But he had been captured… by some, beast. Some awful man.” She began, “This man, he went by Jacob, he captured me and used me as leverage. Forced my husband to commit unspeakable acts in my name.” Shayera sniffled a little bit. After a moment, John stood and approached her, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. Oliver and Barbara exchanged a look.  
  
“What did this guy look like?” Oliver asked carefully. Shayera shrugged.  
  
“I couldn’t tell you - all you humans look the same to me.” She admitted with a bitter chuckle. Barbara was on her smartwatch, pulling up a video from Russia a few months ago. She showed Oliver a small portion of it - a winged man flying around the airport massacring people. Oliver shuddered.  
  
“Hey.” Kate interjected, standing up and approaching Shayera. She had just returned from her bedroom where she had grabbed a little trinket that she now held loosely at her side.  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss -” Kate began.  
  
“Shayera.” John said, giving Kate a nod. Kate brought the trinket up, projecting an image of Ares - the God of War.  
  
“Did the guy look like this?” She asked, hopefully. Shayera looked for barely a second before shaking her head.  
  
“No, he was a regular guy. Red hair, built like a soldier.” Shayera explained carefully and after a pause, “I just miss him, you know?” She practically whispered to John.  
  
“We can get more details later, why don’t you just sit down here.” Oliver motioned towards the couch. Shayera had barely planted her butt down when Harley appeared from the kitchen and handed her a glass of water and a comforting pat on the shoulder. John stuck close to Shayera’s side.  
  
Things were silent for a moment as she sipped her water. Oliver and Barbara were considering their next play, if there was one. Then, Shayera set her glass down and pointed across the room.  
  
“That’s him!” Shayera said. Everyone turned and looked. Kate’s breathe caught in her lungs.  
  
“Are you sure?” John asked. Shayera crossed the room and grabbed the framed photo, looking closely at it before nodding.  
  
“Yes! That’s him!” She said, positively.  
  
Kate felt the blood flow from her face, and she started to sway until Harley came and grabbed her. "Easy there, Red," she heard her partner murmur. "I gotcha."  
  
The words brought her back to herself. She squeezed Harley's hand gratefully, then spoke, fighting to keep her voice steady. "My...my father would never side with Ares. Not in a million years."  
  
"Your...father?" Oliver blinked, looking at Kate. "I didn't..."  
  
"In...in order to be Athene, I..." Kate grasped for words. "I...tried to separate my old life from the new. I didn't want my family being targeted by Ares or anyone else." She paused, swallowing. "But my father's a good man. He joined the Army to defend America, not because he likes war. He wouldn't..."  
  
"I was there," Shayera insisted. “Are you calling me a liar?”  
  
Kate forced herself to meet the alien’s gaze. “When it comes to my father…I’m saying you’re wrong.”  
  
Shayera folded her arms. “I know John, human. I don’t know you. How do I know you aren’t also a creature of Ares?”  
  
Kate staggered back as though punched. It was Harley who stepped forward, eyes flashing dangerously. “Hey, Angel-Eyes? Say that to my girl again and I’ll rip your wings off and shove them up your…”  
  
“Hey, now.” Oliver stepped quickly between the two, hands raised. “Let’s take it easy – we’re all on the same side here.”  
  
John shifted. “I…Shayera, I’m…I know you’re truthful, I know that this has to be the truth as you see it. But…” He coughed. “I was inside the mind of General Kane. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who would side with a fanatical monster like Ares.”  
  
“Assuming he had any choice.” That was Barbara. “I mean…we’ve seen some pretty insane things since we started doing what we do. Everything from instant-meta drugs to ancient armour with advanced tech. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that Ares had some kind of mind-control influence over the General.”  
  
Kate felt some warmth return to her heart. No, that much was true. Much as it pained her to think… “Maybe a sleeper personality?” A horrible thought, but it’d at least be something she could save her father from…  
  
_We just found each other again. I can’t...I can’t walk away from him again._  
  
John nodded. “Or maybe some kind of shape-shifter. Though whatever the case...it’s a lead we need to follow up.”  
  
“Um, Oliver?” Silas Stone tried to distract Oliver from the discussion that the team was currently having in the center of Infinity Tower. Oliver however didn’t notice.  
  
“Oliver!” Silas raised his voice now, surprising the rest of the team as it was his first time to do so. Oliver stepped away from the chaos in the conference room to hear Silas better.  
  
“What is it?” Oliver asked Silas incredulously. Silas looked at him, plain faced.  
  
“The President, Ollie. The President of the United States is calling us.”  
  
The whole room went silent. After a moment, Oliver took the phone from Silas’s hand and walked towards the balcony.  
  
“Madame President?” Oliver began, holding the phone close to his ear. He then said, “Yes, ma’am” three or four times with varying inflections before hanging up. He walked back towards the group, taking a few deep breathes. Everyone looked at him expectantly.  
  
“We’re going to need back up.” He said.  
**  
The Hague. 24 hours later.**  
  
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Lois said as the group entered the meeting room. Her presence there was decidedly undramatic, which kind of disappointed Harley on some level. A few members of the team decided to sit, but Oliver took his trademark position leaning against the wall.  
  
“Sir.” John said, making eye contact with Ambassador Murphy from across the room. The man known to most of the world as Captain Freedom returned the salute; he looked smaller in person, somehow, barely five-foot-nine and lean, but John knew that one hit from those corded arms could pulverize a slab of titanium. The door behind Lois opened and an impossibly tall black woman exited. She was wearing a pantsuit and even from here Harley could see muscles bulging just underneath the well tailored clothes like a shark just below the water.  
  
“The President doesn’t have a lot of time, so we’re going to have to make this quick.” Amanda said as she placed a rather large folder in front of each member of the team. Harley tapped the top of one of the folders.  
  
“You guys can’t afford iPads?” She asked, half-sarcastically. Amanda gave Harley a glare, but Lois just smiled sheepishly.  
  
“Well, we’re trying to keep this info locked up. Some of it’s never been near a computer of any kind - it’s all need to know.” Lois explained.  
  
“Wow!” Harley said quietly as her face lit up. Oliver took his folder with a small nod to the Secretary.  
  
“I really appreciate you trusting us.” Oliver said. Lois gave him a nod and then waited patiently as the rest of the team got their folders. Lois cleared her throat; suddenly she shifted, where she seemed shy and demure before, she was suddenly the biggest thing in the room. She smiled comfortably, and spoke.  
  
“We’ve been aware that your team has been tracking the being known as Ares. We have intel that suggests that one of the Ambassadors has been replaced and that Ares himself has taken that person’s place.  
  
“We need your team to figure out which ambassador is Ares and remove them from the peace Summit. You have six hours to conduct your investigation. I’m sorry for the short notice, but we just got our intel this morning - Ares must’ve performed the switch overnight.” Lois explained clearly. Oliver flipped through the folder one last time and then set it on the table.  
  
“You’ve already figured out which Ambassadors were accounted for when the switch happened. That’s good, it narrows it down for us.” Oliver said quickly.  
  
“Yeah, but look how many that leaves us.” John said as he set his own folder down.  
  
“Can you do it?” The President asked. Everyone was silent for a minute.  
  
“We’ve got you, Madame President.” Lucy replied seriously. Lois raised an eyebrow.   
  
“Formal today, aren’t we, Luce?”   
  
“Not entirely by choice, but I’m on the job,” Lucy admitted. “Good to see you, Lois. Sorry the General and I couldn’t make it through Thanksgiving.”   
  
Lois grinned. “Not your fault, Dad forced that fight. Alright, split up so you can cover more ground. We’ll have a couple of you tag along with each of us so you can get close to each of the Ambassadors and help us figure out who’s been replaced. Now, if you’ll give us a moment, I need to talk to my staff.” The heroes obeyed dutifully, filling out of the room already whispering various ideas and theories to each other.  
  
“I’ll stick close. With the super attacks we’ve had these past few months, I’m not confident that this place is safe,” Audie Leon Murphy said as the door shut behind the other heroes. Waller smirked, while Lois just smiled politely.  
  
“Are you nervous, Captain?” Waller asked with a sly smile. Lois gave her a dirty look, causing Waller to quickly shut her mouth. Lois turned to Murphy, who remained professionally stoic.  
  
“Thank you for your concern, Ambassador, but I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with the delegations.” Lois replied with a soft smile. Murphy frowned, but gave a curt nod to Waller and a salute to the President.  
  
“Of course, Madame President.” He replied seriously as the two turned to exit the room and closed the door behind them. Lois stopped Waller right outside in the hallway.  
  
“Look, I know you two don’t have the best history together, but I’m going to need you to work together on this.” Lois asked Amanda with a serious look on her face now. Waller paused for a moment, chewing on the idea.  
  
“Fine.” She said, an unhappy look on her face. Lois grinned, patting Waller on the shoulder and motioning back into Audie’s office where he was already placing magnets with various nation names on a white board.  
  
“Put your heads together, tell me who I need to talk to. My phone will be on.” Lois turned and headed down the hallway.  
  
“Who are you off to see first?” Amanda called after her, curious.  
  
“Lebed’s a piece of work, but we need him rational. Might as well get an early start.” Lois said as she walked down the hallway, the nuclear briefcase clinking against her side.  
**  
Russian Ambassador’s Office, The Hague**  
  
The Russian ambassador’s office was a far cry from the American one. The room was dark, filled with the acrid smell of smoke. The door swung open mere moments after Lois knocked. She was met by a pale faced Russian guard, who instantly recognized her.  
  
“What do you want?” The guard asked impolitely. Lois offered a hopefully calming smile.  
  
“I’m here to speak to President Lebed.” She replied. The guard sized her up for a moment before turning and yelling something to someone in the office behind him. There was the sound of shifting papers and a chair scraping on the floor. The door opened to reveal to balding Russian President.  
  
“Lois?” Lebed asked with a sigh. He had bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept for quite some time.  
  
“Mr. President, I was hoping we could have a short chat before the Assembly gets underway.” Lois shot back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of pointing out how rude it was that he steadfastly refused to address her by her title.  
  
“Certainly.” Lebed said, leading Lois across the hallway to a bog standard office. Unlike the Russian ambassador’s office, this one was a bit cleaner and with good lighting. It was where the Ambassador held meetings with other ambassadors and the like. Even so, there was an overly full ashtray in the center of the corner.  
  
“You’ve been busy,” Lois offered neutrally as she looked around the room. Lebed pulled out a chair and offered her a chance to sit. Lois took the seat.  
  
“I’ll cut to the chase, Mister President. We’ve noticed your concentration of troops on the Ukrainian border.” Lois explained quickly.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lebed replied, offering her a toothy used car salesman’s grin. Lois held back a frown - she had expected this sort of avoidance, but it was still frustrating.  
  
“Regardless, I would suggest that if Russia had aims on the rest of the Ukraine, they would be wise to bring their grievances to the General Assembly.” Lois warned carefully. Lebed’s brow furrowed instantly.  
  
“Will the General Assembly bring back the victims of Sheremetyevo?” Lebed hissed, glaring angrily at Lois, “The people of my mother country demand justice. And besides, if you come to me to talk of rumors, I’ve heard some very unsavory ones about the funding behind the attacks my capitol.”  
  
“Mister President, I’m sorry for what happened in your country, but it hardly justifies starting a war.” Lois replied neutrally. Lebed leaned back, frowning.  
  
“You didn’t seem nearly so concerned about Novorussia.” Lebed said. Now it was Lois’s turn to frown.  
  
“My predecessor didn’t appreciate Russian intentions for what they were.” Lois replied. Lebed laughed bitterly.  
  
“And you, you see us clearly?” Lebed replied.  
  
“I’m trying my best to.” Lois replied honestly, wondering if Lebed was, in fact Ares, or just his same old self. It was honestly hard to tell.  
  
Lebed reached into his jacket, his own nuclear suitcase bouncing off of the side of his chair as he produced a cigarette. He offered one to Lois, who was frowning again. Lebed paused the conversation a moment, taking a few drags.  
  
“I’ll tell you what I want: full support to send a peacekeeping force into the Ukraine so that we can hunt down the rebels that murdered our civilians.” Lebed said coolly. Lois shook her head.  
  
“I understand the desire for revenge,” Lois said, thinking back to her reporting career and in particular the weeks after September 11th, “But we can’t allow what is tantamount to an invasion by Russia to go unchallenged.”  
  
“You had our support in your invasion of Afghanistan. I hardly see the difference, Lois.” Lebed replied, blowing smoke barely above her head.  
  
“President.” Lois insisted ambiguously. Lebed picked up her meaning and chuckled like a high school quarterback.  
  
“Ah, yes, that was your predecessor. He was much more forceful.” Lebed replied with another grin. Lois grit her teeth and counted to ten, resisting the urge to point out that President Suarez had made a man with ties to Russian petrochemical conglomerates Secretary of the Interior, which might be coloring Lebed’s judgement.   
  
“I can see we’re going to go in circles here. Thank you for your time, Mr. President. We’ll keep in contact throughout the day, alright?” Lois said quickly as she stood up and shook his hand. She let herself out of the office.  
**  
United States Ambassador's Office, The Hague**  
  
Everyone looked up as Lois entered the room, sighing in frustration as she walked slowly towards the desk. She breathed out slowly, stood tall, and took command of the room.  
  
“Alright; I’m assuming Waller and Murphy have given you your marching orders. Who’s going to tag along with me, and who should I be focusing on?” Lois asked. Murphy and Waller looked at each other and Murphy nodded. Waller cleared her throat.  
  
“The British and Japanese are having some trouble with their allies in the Far East. Nothing world shattering, but we’ll need them focused on gathering votes for the sanctions measure.” Waller began, pointing at a map on the wall that she and Waller had stuck a handful of pins in, “Ambassador Murphy here will take John and his friend along to talk with them.”  
  
“John and his friend here will be tagging along with me and scoping out the security detail with the ambassadors.” Murphy interjected. “The Japanese are prickly about protocol, I’ll take point on this one.”   
  
“Good. Make a stop by the Chinese ambassador along the way back, we want to keep them on side.” Lois suggested, “Plus one of their staff was unaccounted for when the security systems went down last night.” Murphy nodded, making a note on a small pad he kept in his pocket.  
  
“I’ll take a turn with the Russian ambassador, then Kate, Oliver, and Harley will join me in visiting the Middle Africa ambassadors.” Waller said. Lois nodded gravely, recalling what had happened there recently.  
  
“Zaire is out?” She asked, disappointed.  
  
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to get them back on board.” Waller replied, “I think one of the biggest priorities that you could help address is the Western European delegations. There’s rumors that we were involved in the Russian airport bombings.” Waller explained while Lois shook her head angrily.  
  
“I’ll set them straight.” Lois replied with determination and then paused, “Would it be alright if I bring the mind reader with me?” She asked. Over in the corner J’onn nodded without turning around.  
  
“I’ll tag along, too if that’s alright Madame President.” Barbara offered from her own spot hunched over a large stack of paper files. Lois nodded and then motioned for Waller to continue.  
  
“If she could, I thought Lucy could scope out the Middle Eastern delegations.” Waller offered.  
  
“And I told her it was a bad idea.” Lucy interjected. Lois just smiled.  
  
“Well, you do speak the language. I think it’s a great idea.” Lois replied kindly. Lucy crossed her arms but nodded, resigning herself to the situation.  
  
“Is this everyone you have?” Waller asked Oliver. He nodded with a face so blandly neutral that one could have cut-and-pasted it onto a cardboard cutout and gotten the cutout to poll at 40% in Presidential straw polls.   
  
“Yes, ma’am.”   
  
“And Power Woman’s officially on vacation because…”   
  
“I have no idea. She can punch concrete into dust with one hit and took down a living nuke without civilian casualties, I don’t think a guy like me could make her do anything even if I wanted to.”   
  
“Enough,” Lois cut in. “If the ali--if Power Woman shows up, we’ll just remind her that metahumans graded above the C list on UN documents are not allowed into the talks except in case of an actual terrorist attack. Except for Ambassador Murphy, special exemption that took me two weeks of work to grandfather in, so don’t fuck this up by rocking the boat. Also, Lucy? If you can contact Power Woman, I want her to be aware of the situation.”   
  
“Don’t worry,” Lucy replied. “We have a plan.”   
  
Lois looked her sister over with a frown, then nodded. “Close to the vest. That works for me. Alright, get to work. I’ve got to stop World War 3.”   
**  
Russian Ambassador’s Office**  
  
“Must you get under their skin?” Marshal Antipov pleaded with Lebed as he returned to the office with a prideful smile.  
  
“That’s hardly a challenge when it comes to women, Marshal.” Foreign Minister Ustarpoff interjected as President Lebed made his way over to the window looking over the city of Hague.  
  
“You know my grandfather served in the Patriotic War?” Lebed said. Antipov clenched his fist - now was not the time for stories. Besides, literally everyone in Russia had at least one grandparent who had served in the Great Patriotic War. Antipov’s grandmother had flown with the Red Star, for God’s sake. Lebed continued regardless.  
  
“He told me, the only thing keeping the Red Army from advancing past Berlin was the politicians in Moscow.” Lebed turned, giving the other two a wicked look, “And look what happened? The Soviet Union fell and our people were very nearly destroyed.”  
  
“Those were dark days.” Ustarpoff admitted while Antipov fiddled with his watch but nodded in agreement.  
  
“And my grandfather died in the war. Had it not stopped, my grandmother surely would’ve died as well.” Antipov offered. Lebed and Ustarpoff exchanged a look with the former grunting.  
  
“Do you fight for the people of Russia, Marshal?” Lebed asked, his words tinged with threat. Antipov nodded quickly.  
  
“You know that I bleed for the people of Russia, Mister President. But I do not wish for the people of our great Motherland to bleed and die because we their leaders could not be polite at a diplomatic conference.” Antipov shot back fiercely. Lebed frowned, but nodded slowly.  
  
“The Americans are aiming for international sanctions.” Ustarpoff offered. Antipov nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
  
“I know. I also know we don’t have enough grain to last the year. We can’t afford another sanction.” Antipov said carefully.  
  
“Sanctions cannot stop the righteous hand of vengeance.” Lebed said menacingly. Antipov frowned. “I happen to know that if the Americans are foolish enough to attack us, they will fail.” He turned with a malevolent grin. “I have acquired certain insurance of that fact.”   
  
Antipov sucked in his breath at the not so subtle hint. He secretly wondered if his President had gone insane. The cowardly terrorist attacks had shaken the nation, certainly. But global war? No rational man could want that.  
  
“Besides, the Americans don’t have the balls to pull them off - literally!” Ustarpoff cut the tension with a chuckle. Antipov however was not amused. Ustarpoff ripped a sheet of paper out of his notebook and handed it to Antipov.  
  
“You want to prevent sanctions? Talk to these diplomats. Stop the sanctions before they can begin.” Ustarpoff said. Antipov looked down at the paper, then back up at the President and Foreign Minister. With a sigh, he turned and left the room.  
  
Hopefully, this gamble of Lebed’s wouldn’t result in a war that would see Russia bleed.

***  
**American ambassador's office _._**

Kate produced a number of small, intricately-carved devices, each one unique. “These go in the right ear,” she said. “They’re…” She paused carefully. “This is hard to explain, but...Ares, and those touched by him, emit a particular sound.”  
  
John blinked. “A...sound?”  
  
“The Amazons call it the Paean of Ares. It’s like...imagine this interlocking, insane din, of swords clashing, of guns firing, of tanks and jets and of men and women screaming… It all comes together to create this particular sound.”  
  
“So...this sound is linked to those touched by Ares?” Ollie asked, looking at one of the devices.  
  
“Sort of. There are degrees, though, and this is where it gets tricky. Using this, you can pick up a paean from military veterans, but it’s different: it’s quieter when they only served for a short time; and the screaming only sounds when…” Kate paused. “When they  _enjoyed_ it. While that’s always a tell-tale thing for one touched by Ares...well, we know there’s plenty of military men and women who’ve come to love their work.” She sighed, then perked up. “So it’s not perfect, but it  _will_ help in narrowing the field down, allow us to quickly identify candidates to get DNA from.”  
  
“Once you’ve narrowed it down, give me a call.” J’onn floated to the center of the room now, “I’ll be able to gather the DNA discretely and return it to Lex at the hotel where he can process it with one of the artifacts that Kate has provided for us.”  
  
“The thing takes a while to process the DNA, so really try to narrow it down before we get Lex on it.” Kate explained, “Now let’s do this.” Everyone headed different directions, except for Oliver who leaned in close to Kate.  
  
“That was good - have you ever thought of leading a team?” He asked with a grin.  
  
***  
  
Prime Minister Daniel Phillips nodded as he nibbled on some kind of puff pastry. “The immediate situation in Malaysia’s been dealt with, but the situation on the ground…” He sighed. “There’s a fair amount of bad blood between the two sides, as I’m sure you know Madam President.”  
  
Lois nodded. “The ethnic Malay population in Southern Thailand?”  
  
“Absolutely. And their ethnic kin in Malaysia proper periodically helping troublemakers out. The Thais get riled up when there’s trouble in the South, the Malays accuse the Thais of being heavy-handed, cross-border pursuits happen…” He frowned at the pastry, as though trying to decide whether or not he liked it. “Like I say: in this case, the perpetrator of the immediate problem was dealt with thanks to a joint Malay-British operation. And to be fair, neither we nor Japan  _want_ this to escalate. But…” His jaw set. “Great Britain made a solemn undertaking to Malaysia, when it became an independent nation. We undertook to defend its sovereignty and independence, by any means necessary.”  
  
_In return for continuing to have a controlling stake in its economy_ Lois thought. Malaysia and Singapore were effectively economic extensions of Britain and Australia, and they still basically ruled Brunei. Between the resources and strategic control of the Straits of Malacca, Britain made out like a bandit from its solemn undertaking.  
  
She cast a quick glance at Barbara, who blinked a couple of times.  _She’s not sure. Damn._  
  
She decided to keep going. “I understand that, but…”  
  
“With respect, ma’am,” Phillips interjected, “it’s not just what you think. We’re not looking to defend our investment. This is about Great Britain’s reputation, the value of her word. We pledged to defend Malaysia as though it was our own territory. Is that periodically inconvenient? Yes. Would I prefer if money spent on that purpose was spent on more social programmes at home? Yes. But Britain proved herself willing to go to the ends of the earth to defend her territory, no matter how small, back in 1982. If we were willing to defend the Falklands of all places, we cannot be seen to be lukewarm about our commitments to an old and valued ally.”  
  
His expression had hardened considerably at that, and Lois was reminded of the fact that Phillips knew whereof he spoke. He’d spent three years with the RAF, and one of those years had been 1982, when he’d served as a navigator on a V-Bomber attacking Argentinian ground targets.  
  
_I knew he had a hard side, but…_ She fought the urge to bite her lip.  _Is this just him? Or...something more? Could he be…_  
  
_No. Honestly, wouldn’t you say the same thing in his position?_  
  
She kept her face level, but her mind whirled.  _Finding Ares is going to be impossible…_  
  
The British PM shifted the subject, voice softening somewhat. “But anyway, with any luck we’ll get the issue sorted, between us and Japan and economic pressure on our wayward friends. We’ll have to, with Russia stirring things up.”  
  
“That much is definite, sir.” That came from an older man in uniform, who stepped up beside the Prime Minister. “The democratic powers need to present a united front in the face of Eurasian aggression.” He looked meaningfully in Lois’ direction. “ _Wholly_ united, and without any precipitous action on any one nation’s part. I’m sure you agree, Madam President, that that would be a bad thing?”  
  
“Absolutely.” Lois knew exactly what the man - a Colonel, if she read the rank insignia right - was talking about. “And none of us will be. Regardless of what wild claims the EC leadership might make, Colonel…”  
  
“Pennyworth, ma’am.” The Colonel nodded. “Yes, Marshal Lebed has a tendency to say whatever leaps into his head, and the Eurasian people do still respond to certain buzzwords. But even the Marshal can’t keep this going for long: he’ll either need to draw in his horns or go the full way.”  
  
Phillips sighed. “A shame, really. He’s a remarkable man in some ways - took a poor, tired country on the verge of collapse and managed to hold some of its power together.” He frowned. “But of course, how much of that depended on the suppression of the national aspirations of others?”  
  
“All of it, effectively.” For all that Lebed talked about the brotherhood of Eurasian peoples, everyone knew it was Russian domination over others. “And while we don’t want a fight, we can’t let it expand.”  
  
“On that, I think we can all agree. Though of course, we hope we can talk the man down. Appeal to the Russian preference for the Long Game, at least.”  
  
Lois nodded, feeling vague relief.  _Whatever happens, we’re not in this alone._  
  
_Unless he_ is  _Ares._  
  
Phillips grinned suddenly. “A shame we have to be addressing this issue at all. We’ve both got a lot needs doing at home. Though I have to say, given America’s more...individualistic culture, I’m amazed at how much you’ve achieved. And in awe.”  
  
“Quite frankly, I’m jealous of you. If I could have used corporation tax to fund free third-level education, I’d have done that on day one.” Lois grinned as the conversation took a turn to the domestic, and Phillips began to expound on future plans. Surely Ares wouldn’t be talking about that with such enthusiasm.  
  
_Unless he was just that good._  
  
“Do I know you?” A young man with black hair sitting next to Barbara asked. Barbara shook her head, trying to remain focused on the Prime Minister. There was a paean audible, but she wasn’t...she was getting a couple of screams, but not the kind of howling that Kate had told her.  _She did say that it was possible to guiltily enjoy it...is this what that is?_  
  
“I’ve just got one of those faces.” She said quickly, trying to ignore him. The man smiled widely.  
  
“No, not you. Of course, seeing as how my hobby involves punching terrorists -” Now he frowned, “I’m guessing I know you from my night time hobby. You a vigilante?”  
  
“Squire, right?” Barbara offered with a smile.  
  
“And you were the candy girl, right?” John grinned, “What brings you to the UN?”  
  
“Work.” Barbara replied simply. John’s face fell.  
  
“I hope it’s not the same kind of work you were doing back in Jump. This place is dangerous.” John gestured to the lavish board room.  
  
“Besides the threat of being bored to death, it doesn’t seem so bad. Unless you know that something that I don’t?” Barbara prodded. John chuckled lightly, picking up on the play but not minding it.  
  
“Sometimes things are different than they appear, doll.” John said, pulling up his sleeve, “For example, while the powers that be have restricted upper level metas from here, there’s plenty of ways to hide them - look at my cybernetics here.” John pointed at small divuts along his arm.  
  
“So you’re saying there could be Class 1s here and no one would know?” Barbara said with a shiver. John shrugged, pulling up his sleeve.  
  
“Oh, I’m sure plenty know. When it seems like everyone else is sneaking in their own one man superweapon, why not sneak your own in?” John asked. Barbara frowned.  
  
“Well President Lane wouldn’t…” But Barbara trailed off as John gave her a look. She sighed, nodding.  
  
“Sheldrake, we’re moving!” Colonel Pennyworth called over as he and the Prime Minister were heading out one side of the room. Lois met Barbara at the other door.  
  
“So, any clues?”  
  
Barbara chewed her lip. “I got...I got a paean, but we knew he’d been a veteran anyway. But...it did seem like he’d enjoyed it a bit.”  
  
“That fits with his background, though.” Lois sighed. “He flew on the Black Buck raids over the Falklands. He wouldn’t have had the same up-close experience with it all - for him it would have been a few brief minutes of action. At the age he was, it might have not quite seemed real.” She frowned. “Though I do remember one time, seeing an interview where he said that the most terrifying part of it all for him was flying back, waiting for the mid-air refuelling plane. Not exactly the sentiment of someone who got a kick out of the whole thing.”  
  
“Well...” Barbara paused. “We’d better verify. Because he seemed a potential.”  
  
***  
  
John had to say, he couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to be Ares than Prime Minister Takagawa Mayuko. It wasn’t just how small she was compared to...well, everyone else, even other Japanese. It was also her entire demeanour, how she seemed to radiate perfect calm and serenity, how every motion was careful and delicate.  
  
More out of curiosity than anything else, he activated his earbead. And was unsurprised to find that nothing came up.  
  
“Of course, we have little interest in confrontation with Britain or Malaysia,” the Prime Minister said carefully. “Little to no interest, in fact. My government wishes to preserve those friendships that we have assiduously cultivated ever since the Second World War.” She paused. “We...wish this more than some may have done in the past.”  
  
John fought to hide a grin as he caught the veiled, perfectly deniable criticism of the Genda-Nakasone governments. They’d been...Never exactly  _confrontational_ towards the United States but they hadn’t ever backed down in terms of championing Japanese interests, and they’d caused a period of coolness between Japan and the United States thanks to their supporting General Jovito Suarez’ coup against the pro-American government that preceded him. Suarez had later joined Japan and her other allies, loudly proclaiming an end to ‘Yankee imperialist domination’ and the dawn of fraternal relations with the other liberated peoples of East Asia.  
  
Of course, Suarez had ended up getting quietly removed by the mid-1990s, and democracy had returned. At around the same time as the shift in internal Japanese politics back to a more moderate stance that had ultimately culminated in the election of the woman that they were talking to now.  
  
Murphy nodded. “I appreciate that, ma’am, and rest assured, America wishes to maintain its alliance with Japan. And with Britain.”  
  
“Indeed.” The Prime Minister frowned. “The only real obstacle to peace in the region comes from, ah, incorrigible elements on the ground. And the death of the Thai metahuman Arhat to Malay guerrillas has not helped matters.”  
  
John’s eyes narrowed. He’d heard of that… It had been reported just before the news on the joint British-Malaysian operation to shut down cross-border banditry.  
  
Murphy, for his part, frowned. “I see. Was he popular in Thailand, ma’am?”  
  
“Very much so.” The Prime Minister dropped her voice. “Between us, the man was hardly perfect. But to the Thais, well, Buddhism is central to the Thai way of life, and monks are regarded with great respect. A monk who manifested such power as Arhat did...The Thais saw him as a living saint. Pilgrims would trek all the way from Krung Thep and the South to the forest monastery where he lived, to try to get a glimpse of him. The villagers around the monastery used to  _fight_ over who gave him rice. And now he’s dead. There’s a lot of popular anger over his death. Several mosques in Krung Thep have been attacked, ethnic Malays are being harassed, and there are popular calls to try to force Malaysia to pay some kind of reparation for his death. Those got blunted when it was revealed that Malaysia and Britain had eliminated the group responsible, but still, the issue remains a point of contention and a rallying point for hawks.” She didn’t say anything, but her eyes flicked to a short-haired, harsh-looking man wearing the uniform of a General in the Royal Thai Army.  
  
John remembered the briefing documents they’d been given. General Mongkol Atitam came from peasant stock, but had clawed his way up the ladder to become the commanding officer of the First Army Area, one of the more prominent commands in the Thai military. He was also an outspoken critic of continued British influence in Southeast Asia and - from what John had read - had lost his younger brother to a gun attack by Malay seperatists in the South.  
  
_Now_ he  _could be working for Ares, very feasibly. Or could be Ares himself - who better to try to stir things up in that region?_  
  
John tensed as the man came over, bowed to the Prime Minister, then bowed Murphy. “Captain Freedom! An honour to meet you in person,” the General boomed. “The histories of your exploits were a constant inspiration to me throughout my own military career.”  
  
“That’s...very kind of you general,” Murphy replied neutrally.  
  
“Not kindness - simple truth.” Atitam looked between Murphy and the Prime Minister. “Has Ms Takagawa been explaining the state of affairs in our part of the world? It is a sad state, make no mistake.” He shook his head mournfully. “We have constantly tried to find common ground with the Malaysians, common ground that would allow us to address issues surrounding our common border. But they and their British friends have proven utterly intransigent, and so violence on the border continues. And now...now, the criminals on the border have struck down one of Thailand’s greatest sons: a simple monk who only ever wished to use his power to aid others and to protect his nation.”  
  
John had to fight not to smirk at that. From what  _he’d_ read, Arhat had been a vicious rabble-rouser with an anti-Muslim message, often calling for ‘sacred Thailand’ to be cleared of those who did not respect the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. Fortunately the greater part of Thais - to say nothing of the government and the King - didn’t believe in that message, but there was a sizeable minority who  _did_.  
  
Murphy managed to keep a straight face. Somehow. “I can understand Thailand’s grief at losing such a  _unique_  man, but at the same time...surely this isn’t something that one can blame the Malaysian government for?”  
  
“They incite criminal elements in our Southern provinces, Captain.” Atitam’s face set hard. “They must cease, or be made to cease. Only in that way will we finally have true, eternal peace in the Southern provinces. And if it takes force to convince them of that...well, Thailand is more than capable of delivering it, and ours is the side of right. And I would hope that other nations around the world would see it as such and act accordingly.”  
  
Murphy looked levelly at the General. “General, the United States is a friend to all democratic nations everywhere. And as a democratic nation ourselves, we have little tolerance for bullying actions. By any nation. You can rest assured of that.”  
  
Now John had to desperately try not to laugh at the ugly expression that appeared on the General’s face. And at how the man was trying not to yell. Because that was a comment that could be taken so, so many different ways.  
  
Eventually, he forced a smile back to his face, bowed, and disappeared. While Prime Minister Takagawa didn’t sigh with relief, her shoulders moved forward, almost invisibly. “A man of strong opinions,” she said carefully. “And a man with many friends among our own military high command, and even a few in our government - dedicated as he is to the ideals of pan-Asianism. His voice carries a great deal of weight, and recently it has been largely concerned with teaching Malaysia a lesson.”  
  
John watched him go. Watched him moving towards some other representatives - mostly from Japan’s other Asian allies. No doubt filling their ears with Malaysia’s perfidy.  
  
_This guy just keeps looking more and more like a candidate._  
  
Before he got out of sight, John activated the earbead again. Then de-activated it, as the Paean filled his ears loudly.  
  
Definitely  _a candidate._  
  
* * *  
  
“Maseo! How have you been?” Murphy said with a grin as he clasped the middle aged Chinese man on the back. With another super, he could relax a bit. Maseo returned the smile with a blow to the back that would’ve crushed the spine of a normal human. Inside the Chinese ambassador’s office, Murphy’s counterpart was smiling and nodding politely to something the Tibetan ambassador was saying.   
  
“I am well, Ambassador.” Maseo responded kindly.  
  
“Did you catch the game the other night?” Murphy asked, “I like that Brice guy.”  
  
“He’s promising. I’m hoping he can take the Dragons to the Series.” Maseo responded with a grin.  
  
“Well, he’ll have to get through my Rangers, first.” Audie replied. Maseo laughed.  
  
“The Rangers? They’ve been horrible this year.” Maseo responded quickly. Murphy shrugged dramatically.  
  
“Well, they say everything looks different from the bottom.” Murphy replied.  
  
“You hope so, at least.” Maseo said. Both men paused for a moment.  
  
“Lebed drop by yet?” Murphy asked, quieter now. Maseo shook his head.  
  
“Ustarpoff, actually.” He said, “That man desperately needs a shower.” Murphy chuckled at that.  
  
“You think Kenan buys it?” Murphy asked. Maseo shrugged, looking guilty now.  
  
“I once saw a man convince Kenan that a dollar store vase was from the 18th century.” Maseo said with a chuckle.  
  
“So you don’t like him.” Murphy stated the obvious. Maseo gave a polite smile.  
  
“I serve at the pleasure of the People of China.” Maseo responded with a tone just flat enough to give the American super a wry grin and just spontaneous-sounding enough that the Chinese PR team wouldn’t be upset. Murphy nodded, shaking Maseo’s hand one last time as the Tibetan staff left the office.  
  
“Good man. I’m going to head in, now. Watch out for those Rangers, you hear? They’ll surprise you.” Murphy said as he headed into the Chinese ambassador’s office.  
  
“Ambassador, I hope you’ve been having a good day.” Murphy greeted the Chinese ambassador kindly enough. The other man, however, seemed to be off in another world. He jerked to look at Murphy.  
  
“Ah, Ambassador Murphy. So good to see you.” The ambassador said with a wide smile. He offered Murphy a seat, which he took.  
  
“What brings you by today?” The ambassador asked.  
  
“Well, I’m sure you heard - the Russians are planning to invade the Ukraine. We’re looking for a sanction vote against them. You supported us last time even though it didn’t succeed. I was just coming by the make sure you’re still on board.”  
  
“Hmm… well, there is a small problem there. I have been talking to a Russian man - I believe his name was Antipov - and he had quite a few good things to offer us in exchange for our vote.”  
  
"You can't seriously be suggesting of allying with the Russians after all those years they occupied Manchuria and Xinjiang." Murphy said. The Chinese ambassador smiled.  
  
"And the United States bombed Nanking. And the powers that be in Europe pumped our country full of opioids before that. China has friends because she has a short memory. Do you have anything else to offer besides tales of the past?" The ambassador replied coldly.  
  
_Okay asshole, you're just fishing for handouts here?_  Murphy sighed. He didn’t have time to talk the ambassador down. Instead he tapped his ear, listening for the din of Ares while pretending to scratch his head.  
  
“Well, I’ve heard that STAR Labs is planning another rotation to the moon. We were going to take up most of the seats - we’ve got some very interesting research into Helium, you see - but I’m sure if China were to help us out here, we could help you out there.” Murphy explained quickly while simultaneously listening for the paean of Ares. He heard absolutely nothing from the ambassador. He lowered his hand with a grunt of frustration. The ambassador smiled widely.  
  
“Now, we’re getting productive, Ambassador…”  
  
_***_  
  
“We’re just going out for coffee, we’ll be right back.” Oliver said as he and Harley walked out the door. Amanda scratched her head.  
  
“Glad to see your friends are taking this seriously.” Waller said, almost to herself but loud enough for Kate to hear.  
  
“Trust me, Secretary. They are.” Kate replied quickly, getting defensive of her girlfriend. Waller chuckled lightly in response.  
  
“You know, I used to be a lot like you.” Secretary Waller said as she and Kate (officially “Agent Kate Kane” at least for the day) walked down the hallway between meetings.  
  
“You used to dress up in armor and punch people?” Kate asked sarcastically. Amanda laughed in return.  
  
“Actually, yes.” Amanda replied, leaving Kate to pause for a moment and wonder if it was a joke.  
  
“Looks like you’re carrying Amazonian tech.”  
  
_The government knows about the Amazons!?_  
  
“Seems like things haven’t changed much since I wore the suit.” Amanda continued, leaving Kate to breathe a sigh of relief.  
  
“I knew there’d been an Athene before me, but they never said who. And, well, you did a good job of hiding who you really were.”  
  
Waller chuckled. “True enough. Kind of had to, balancing it with a military career.”  
  
“How’d you…”  
  
“Eh. First woman - first  _black_ woman - to make pilot in my unit. My CO was old-school, didn’t think the Air Force was an ‘instrument of social change’. So when they wanted someone to check out weird signals in the Bermuda Triangle…” She trailed off with a sour smile. “Imagine my surprise when instead of hitting water after I ejected, I land on an island as big as Jamaica. An island that just  _shouldn’t be there._ ”  
  
“I wasn’t in much condition to appreciate the surprise. I was just so glad someone was there to save me.” Kate shivered, remembering the pain, the utter terror after she’d somehow dragged herself up on the beach. “I spent two days having a Ray put me back together. It was only once I’d properly healed that they brought me before the Queen.”  
  
“They did that with me the moment I landed.”  
  
The two women fell silent as they walked, remembering. Eventually, Kate spoke. “I did think that they were being kind of paranoid.”  
  
“The guards, I understood. The chains, though, were way too much.”  
  
Kate chuckled, then got serious. “So...how come you stopped?”  
  
“I was starting to really rise, and…” Waller paused. “You’re a full-time hero, basically. That’s good, I respect that - you put your life on the line every day for the people of Jump City and beyond. Me, though...the military was my career, and I took orders from the President. I couldn’t serve two masters.”  
  
Kate bridled a little. “I work for Hippolyta, but I don’t give her sensitive…”  
  
“Didn’t think you did for a moment. ‘Sides, you wouldn’t exactly have access to it. But me...I was in a position where she could have asked for it. I wanted to prevent that from ever being a possibility.” She looked at Kate. “Because ultimately, the Amazons want us out here for two reasons. One, so that we can fight Ares and his works; and two, so we can keep them advised on what’s happening in the world. That’s just fine when you’re a civilian, but in the military, and high-ranked… Nah. I couldn’t.” She paused, then smiled. “It  _was_ fun, though. And I like to think I served the country doing that too. After all, the main thing any soldier fights for is to gain peace. What better way to win peace than foiling the God of War?”  
  
Kate returned the older woman’s grin. “I’d drink to that, if we had a drink.”  
  
She broke off as two other figures came down the hallway: a tall, slender black woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a long black dress and a silver necklace with an amulet shaped like a fox’s head; and a flustered-looking Japanese man in a suit. “...and if you would consider the advantages...” the latter was saying.  
  
The woman turned, face calm but eyes stormy. “Sato-san, I will be talking to Prime Minister Takagawa later. I quite look forward to it - she’s an able politician, and a trailblazer for the women of your country. But I’ll be telling her the same that I told you. While my country thanks yours for the scholarships and incentives offered to our young people in your universities - along with young people from across Africa - we are not minded to pursue anything beyond our current trade relations.”  
  
“Madam President...” The suited man flinched as the woman stalked towards him with the grace of a hunting cat.  
  
“Our nation has no desire to become an economic colony of Japan, a place where our people labour to give you our resources. Our economy is stable, our people have a decent standard of living, even if not as entirely modern as yours… I don’t plan to sacrifice our economic sovereignty to any nation, whether Japan or Britain or America.”  
  
So saying, she swept gracefully away. Kate looked after her as she and the Japanese representative disappeared. “Was...was that…” she began.  
  
“President Mari of the EAF? Oh yeah.” Waller sounded just as awed as Kate.  
  
***  
  
Out in the hallway, Oliver and Harley bumped into a blonde haired woman in a pantsuit. The woman nearly dropped the coffee in her hands, but Oliver snatched it out of the air. One look and Harley knew that this was a relative.  
  
“Ollie, what are you doing here?” Senator Moira Queen asked, eyes darting between her son and this mystery woman.  
  
“HeymomwouldlovetotalkbutI’vegotathingloveyoubye!” Oliver blurted out quickly, kissing his mother on the cheek as he dragged Harley down the hallway with him. Harley looked back at the blonde haired woman.  
  
“Well come visit me later, I guess.” Moira said, half to herself but loud enough for Oliver to hear.  
  
“Yep!” Oliver said as they rounded a corner, “She’s a Senator.” He added, proudly.  
  
“Cool.” Harley replied with a smile.  
  
***  
  
“How’s it coming along?” Oliver’s voice came over the comm. Lex grunted, wiping sweat off of his brow and looking up from the rudimentary chemistry station that he had set up in the hotel common room between the team’s various rooms.  
  
“Mr. Queen is trying to contact you.” The strange green alien said from his spot on the nearby couch. He twisted the communicator end over end like it was some strange artifact. Perhaps to him, it was.  
  
“Tell him I’m almost done, then I can send you back to the Assembly.” Lex said forcefully as he continued to examine the sample under his microscope. He was currently analyzing a strand of DNA from Prime Minister Phillips, to see if he was in fact Ares. Kate had said that the alleged deity’s DNA would look indistinguishable from the Human variety under conventional analysis; and the Amazonian equipment that she’d brought with her was both clumsy and unrefined.  
  
“Do you miss your father?” J’onn asked suddenly as he floated the communicator in front of him with telekinesis. Lex paused for a moment, before continuing.  
  
“No.” He replied simply. J’onn let the communicator fall into his lap.  
  
“You’re lucky Ollie didn’t lock you up, after what you did to him.” Lex replied spitefully. J’onn turned to look directly at him, unblinking. Lex felt queasy.  
  
“And what of your capture and torture of me for years?” J’onn replied piercingly. Lex paused, setting down his instrument.  
  
“Of course, your father enjoyed doing it. For you, it was just another science project.” J’onn repeated Lex’s thoughts aloud. He offered a smile, which was so strange on the alien’s face that it came across more as a predatory grin.  
  
“I know your actions are not quite moral themselves, Mr. Luthor. I just wanted you to know that I haven’t forgotten.” J’onn replied. Lex maintained eye contact for a moment, before returning to his work with a grunt.  
  
“Why bother with us, then? Why not just piss off back to wherever you came from?” Lex replied angrily.  
  
“I come from Mars, Mr. Luthor. And since my planet was destroyed eons ago, Earth is the closest to home I will ever get.” J’onn replied seriously, “For better or for worse, we must make this work between us.”  
  
***  
  
_Scope out the diplomats from the Arab League countries, they said. Start with the Iraqis, they said…_  Lucy Lane was not a happy woman. She’d done a tour in Iraq after Saddam Hussein’s regime had collapsed in a brutal revolt that turned into a civil war back in 2005--things had stabilized and the country had become increasingly functional since ‘08, but that had been too late for Lucy, who’d come out of the mess with a ruined face, a Silver Star, two maimed and one dead squadmate to regret, and a psychotherapy bill that had nearly broken her bank account even with Lois’s covert and unwanted help.   
  
Still, she really shouldn’t blame the Iraqis themselves for it, she reminded herself.  _Just that fucking sandy hellhole._ And while they weren’t exactly huge fans of America, the Iraqis at least grudgingly thanked the US occasionally for actually bothering to help set up a functional democratic government without naked puppetry like the Russians had tried, even if the Damn Kurds (™) were still trying to throw their new political muscle around.   
  
Not for the first time, Lucy cursed the name of whatever old British man had drawn the Middle East’s borders in the 1920s.  _That_  guy was ultimately to blame for the hundred thousand dead and tens of thousands of maimed civilians and soldiers who had accumulated across the ensuing conflicts.   
  
The Iraqi ambassador was a crisply-bearded man of august middle age, with bright, beady eyes and a poker face that Death would have been jealous of, who wore a keffiyeh in the Palestinian style and a casual suit. Behind him a compact, relatively slender teenage girl stood at parade rest, face shrouded in a black veil and body hidden beneath a loose black bodysuit with flowing pant legs. Right, the Iraqi super, Seif al-Islam. She’d cut her teeth on Patrick “Carrera” Hennessy, a crazy American renegade with a private army, when the latter had raided and massacred an Iraqi fishing village for no apparent reason. American and Iraqi forces had supported the American Super-Patriots team and the rookie Iraqi super in the counterattack, and Carrera was currently serving a life sentence in supermax for crimes against humanity.   
  
Currently, the ambassador was talking to a heavily be-medaled elderly Russian in military dress. The Russian - Foreign Minister Ustarpoff - looked pissed.   
  
“Since you are clearly not a puppet of American interests, my friend, I can see no reason for your great and storied nation to object to the offer that the leader of Mother Russia has made to support your national defense and regional interests,” Ustarpoff growled. “It would behoove you to choose the winning side, with global conflict looking increasingly likely by the day.”   
  
“Iraq has no desire to  _choose sides_ ,” the Iraqi replied, his voice even harder to read than his face. “We have suffered enough from conflict in the past four decades, and the peoples of our nation do not wish to begin  _another_  battle when we are still dealing with a Daesh presence in the area of Mosul. A Daesh presence, I note, that the leader of Mother Russia has done nothing to help eradicate, in Iraq or in Syria. Tell Lebed that we want no part of his little ego competition with the Americans. If he wants to needle the great, arrogant bull of the world, let him do so and reap the rewards of his efforts.”   
  
“I  _urge_  you to reconsider,” Ustarpoff snarled. The Iraqi raised his left sharply, and the super stepped forwards. Ustarpoff backed off, and the Iraqi lowered his hand, the super returning to parade rest, eyes hard to read without the rest of the face to go by. Ustarpoff forced himself to smile with obviously fake pleasantness.   
  
“I will leave you to your business, my friend,” he said with a bow, medals clinking. The Iraqi didn’t bother with a reply.   
  
“If you’re here on Lane’s behalf, my answer is the same as I gave to that one,” the ambassador said as Lucy approached. “Until you get the Daesh scum out of our country and burn them out of Syria at the root, we owe you nothing.”   
  
“Nobody’s helping you?” Lucy asked with concern. “I mean, I know there’s a NATO effort…”   
  
“Oh, yes, the great and vaunted Operation Judicious Force. A few bombing runs that do nothing more than destroy cheap makeshift fortifications. They return in days from their caves in the hills and attack our people again. Unless we get  _trained counterinsurgency forces_ on the ground, in force, with our troops rotated off the front lines for intensive training with your best teachers, you will have nothing from us.”   
  
“But they are taking casualties, aren’t they?”   
  
“ _Your media doesn’t report on their super-drugs_?” Seif al-Islam growled, the voice artificially deepened through a disguiser.   
  
“There were unconfirmed reports…”  _Confirmed_  reports, and absolutely terrifying reports at that, but Lucy wasn’t trying to get diplomatic concessions.   
  
“Someone is selling the false Caliph’s dogs metahuman enhancement chemicals. His so-called ‘Islamic State’ has  _defeated_  numerically superior forces in the past three engagements,” the ambassador replied. “Frankly, I am surprised that your media is not reporting this.”   
  
“They’re more concerned with lurid replays of beheading videos.” That, to be fair, was true. “How powerful are we talking?”   
  
“ _Not powerful enough to resist my blades,_ ” Seif al-Islam spoke up. “ _I cut one’s arm off, and the flesh cauterized as well, so they are not invincible. But durable, they suffer reduced damage from small-arms fire, and strong, strong enough to throw a grown man wearing fifty pounds of gear over thirty feet. Super-killer rounds kill them, but we have a limited supply and the Russians aren’t selling without concessions_.”   
  
“Titan’s Blood,” Lucy muttered. “Has anyone come to you, ah,  _covertly_?”   
  
“Hah,” the ambassador snorted. “If anyone has, it would have been directly to the Prime Minister, and he has said nothing.”   
  
_So Ares is funding ISIS but not the Iraqis. That fits with what Kara and Maggie told me Hippolyta said about Ares’s goals…_  ISIS’s barbaric methods would certainly fit in with Ares’s typical goons.   
  
“ _We are at risk of losing ground_ ,” Seif al-Islam spoke up again. “ _And the Turks, damn cowards, and Iranians, greedy pigs, won’t help us. The false Caliph’s servants are butchering the Satan-worshippers first but they’ll come for the rest of us soon enough. I can’t win this fight alone._ ”   
  
“You shouldn’t have to. Super-powers or not, you’re just one girl,” Lucy pointed out.   
  
“ ** _Man_** ,” the super growled back. “ _I am not a **girl**!_ ”   
  
“ _Seif_!” the Iraqi ambassador snapped. “Enough! Not here!”   
  
“Oh, hell, I’m sorry,” Lucy apologized. “I didn’t realize you were trans, I’m sorry, sir.”   
  
“My apologies,” the ambassador assured her. “Seif al-Islam is aware that her lifestyle choices are  _not_  to be discussed around foreign dignitaries or at any time during diplomatic visits. I should have reminded her of that fact earlier.”   
  
The super clenched his fists, the hands starting to  _morph_  into razor-sharp blades, but stepped back, the budding blades shifting back to bronzed skin. Lucy forced a smile.   
  
“I can see that I’ve caught you at a bad time.”  _And that you’re most likely not Ares and definitely aren’t working for him._ “I’ll see myself out.”   
  
“Perhaps you should. And do please tell President Lane that Iraq’s position is not likely to change in the near future.”   
  
“If it helps…” Lucy wrote a number on a napkin, crumpled it up, and tossed it to the ambassador. “That’s a friend. She can help, for free. My other friend can’t act without Security Council authorization, but this is something, at least. Something to deal with the super-drugs ISIS has.”   
  
****  
  
“Marshal Antipov? Aren’t house calls a bit below you?” Amanda said with a raised eyebrow as she and Kate saw him stepping out of the Zairean Conference Room. Antipov had a dark look in his eye for a moment, but he turned on the charm.  
  
“Secretary Waller! How’s my favorite American?” He asked loudly. Amanda nodded to the door behind him.  
  
“You warmed him up for me?” Amanda asked sharply. Antipov shrugged, smiling professionally. He patted his coat, grabbing a cigarette and then putting it back in his pocket.  
  
“New regulations are bullshit, right?” Kate interjected. Antipov looked at her, staring for a moment - he must’ve seen here on the television, right? He quickly eyed her security badge.  
  
“Yes, ma’am. But it’s the Danes loss if they don’t want to smoke. Have a nice day, ladies.” Antipov waved at the two women and went on his way. Amanda and Kate exchanged a look, then headed into the Zairean Conference Room.  
  
They nearly barrelled into President McCabe on her way out of the door.  
  
“Don’t waste your time, ladies. He’s already made up his mind.” McCabe said angrily as she stalked past the two. Kate followed after her - McCabe was one of those unaccounted for when the security went down the previous night.  
  
“I’ll decide if he’s made up his mind.” Amanda said coolly, turning and entering the conference room. President Zavimbe was sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by empty plates of food.  
  
“Secretary.” Zavimbe motioned moodily towards one of the seats. Amanda sat, smiling professionally.  
  
“Enjoying the food here in Europe?” She asked. Zavimbe laughed at that, the tension breaking slightly.  
  
“It’s about the only good thing to come out of here.” Zavimbe admitted. Amanda smiled at that one.  
  
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother, Mr. President. He was a great man.” Amanda continued honestly. Isaac nodded sadly.  
  
“A greater man than all of us, I think. It’s unfortunate that we cannot follow the path he desired.” Isaac replied.  
  
“There’s always time to change course, Mr. President.”  
  
“Not in this case, I’m afraid. Most of my nation’s contractors were relying on those jobs promised upon joining the Lane Pact. They will have to be replaced somehow.”  
  
“You could always rejoin the Pact, of course.”  
  
“No, ma’am. It was hard enough to sell a pact with Westerners. After this latest incident, it is impossible to join with the East Africans.”  
  
“You are aware that your brother’s killer had no affiliation with the East Africans.”  
  
“Does it matter? All that matters is what the people saw. Perception is everything, Secretary. My nation is fragile and I do not wish to see it fall apart. I will not. I have been lucky thus far that I haven’t yet had to dirty my hands like certain other countries in maintaining order. But Zaire will hold, Madame Secretary.”  
  
“I cannot convince you to at least abstain?”  
  
“I wish I could, truly. But the Russians are providing jobs in return for this vote. I cannot go home and tell the people they have lost their jobs. I’m sure you will find a way without us, Secretary.” Isaac finished, a deep sadness in his eyes. Amanda sighed, standing up and offering a hand to shake.  
  
“Well, I admire your honesty, Mr. President. I hope that we can rekindle the bond between our nations one day.” Amanda said simply, shaking his hand. And with that, she turned and left.  
  
**VIP Box**  
  
“What’ll it cost me?” Jacob asked seriously. The Danish ambassador chuckled.  
  
“You mortals have such small imaginations.” The ambassador replied.  
  
“I’m not a fan of frills - I just want results.” Jacob replied with a grunt. The ambassador nodded understandingly, leaning back in his chair.  
  
“Remotely controlling that many nukes will require quite a large share of my powers - the cost will be quite high.” The ambassador said thoughtfully.  
  
“Just tell me the price.” Jacob replied quickly. He shivered as he recalled his dream from the night before - an America laid waste by Russian nukes. But worse yet was the lingering image of his daughter in a casket, “I can pay it.”  
  
**US Ambassador’s Office**  
  
“Alright, what are our numbers looking like?” Lois asked as they all found their way back to Murphy’s office. Murphy and Waller were busy pushing magnets around the board, which was marked with three columns: Yay, Nay, and Abstain. Each magnet had the name of a country on it.  
  
“Zaire is a Nay, unfortunately.” Amanda said with her arms crossed.  
  
“Venezuela, too.” Murphy cut in. Lois nodded, scratching her head.  
  
“That puts us at what, two votes ahead of what we need?” Lois asked. Murphy and Waller looked at the board, mentally counting up the country's quickly. They both nodded at her.  
  
“Assuming no surprises, of course. Lucy - how’s the Iraqi delegation doing?” Lois turned to her sister.  
  
“Abstain, most likely. But I made a friend.” Lucy replied with a grin. Lois smiled widely.  
  
“And the Europeans are back onside. Good, good. I think we can pull this through. Of course I’ll need to you lay the finishing blow, Ambassador Murphy.” Lois said, turning to the elderly veteran who nodded professionally.  
  
“You can count on me, Madame President.” He said with a grin. Lois nodded to everyone.  
  
“Alright, get out there.” Waller and Murphy left the room, leaving Lois to turn seriously to the heroes that were present.  
  
“Has your team found anything?” Lois asked, seriously. Oliver scratched his head guiltily.  
  
“Well, uh, Lex is working on it. We’ve narrowed it down, I think.” Oliver replied. Lois frowned.  
  
“I don’t like wildcards, Mr. Queen. Do you think this ‘God of War’ could mess up the negotiations?” She asked.  
  
“As far as we know, he can’t control minds.” Kate interjected. Lois thought on it for a moment, before nodding.  
  
“Alright, I guess that’ll have to do. Keep looking, and keep me posted.” Lois said with a nod before turning to leave the room. The door had just closed behind her when Barbara stepped up next to Kate.  
  
“Kate - there’s one more person we need to talk to.” Barbara said carefully as she placed a hand on Kate’s shoulder. Kate nodded solemnly.  
  
“I know. I’ll do it.” She replied.  
  
“Are you sure? One of us can do it.” Oliver offered kindly. Kate shook her head - it had to be her. Harley was at her side, clutching her arm.  
  
“I’m with you, babe.” She said quietly. Kate gulped and steeled herself, willing her body to walk towards the VIP box currently occupied by Jacob Kane, Director of ARGUS.  
  
“Dad?” She said quietly as she opened the door slowly.  
  
She saw her father freeze, as though stung. Then slowly, tentatively, he looked around.  
  
She didn’t say anything. She just ran at him and grabbed him in a hug. She felt him respond instantly, hugging her back tightly.  
  
It took a while, but eventually they broke apart. “Uh…” Jacob paused, seeming to search for words. “So...how’ve you been?”  
  
The two of them were silent. Then...Kate couldn’t help herself. The incongruity of the question, against the raw emotion in their hug and the expression of disbelief and fear on her dad’s face… She had to laugh, even though it was  _damned_ inappropriate.  
  
It made her feel a little better when her dad did too.  
  
“I’m...good,” she managed eventually, having to fight down another laugh.  
  
“Good… I didn’t know you’d be here. I mean, I’d hoped to see you again after...well, you know, but I didn’t think it’d be now.”  
  
“Well, I’m here for work, but…” Kate smiled lopsidedly. “I wanted to see you.”  
  
The smile that greeted that remark made her sure that this was her father, not Ares.  
  
“Have...have you called your cousin Bette?” the General asked. “She hero-worshipped you so bad, I’m sure she’d love to know you’re...well…”  
  
“Not yet. It’s…” Kate bit her lip. “It’s hard to, well…” She looked down. “You all thought I died, and...I kind of did. I really did fall out of the world for a while. And when I came back... I had this job to do. And I didn’t want my family…”  
  
“I understand.” As Kate looked up, her dad smiled sadly. “I’m a General,  _bubaleh._ Men and women in black-ops...so many of them have to leave their families, pretend they’re someone they’re not, to get the job done.”  
  
Outside, the assembly was doing their opening remarks, with Ambassador Murphy to be the first speaker. However, Jacob was focused on the two people in the room with him - he looked over Kate’s shoulder. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”  
  
Kate jumped guiltily. “I...sorry! Both of you, I’m so sorry. Harley, this is my father, General Jacob Kane. Dad, this is Harleen Quinzel...my partner.”  
  
Harley skipped forward, a smile on her face. “Pleased to meetcha, General,” she said, extending her hand.  
  
Jacob laughed slightly. “Likewise. And also pleased that during her time in the wilderness, my daughter managed to find a nice Jewish girl.”  
  
Harley grinned widely. “Eh, I’m not exactly ‘nice’. Just ask any criminal in Jump City.”  
  
“I can imagine. After...after Kate and I first reconnected, and after she told me about what you and she do, I looked you up.” Jacob smirked slightly. “Not...officially I couldn’t condone it of course. But...you two do play well on iTube.”  
  
Harley preened a little, but Kate shifted a little. Then, reluctantly, raised a hand to her ear, activating the small bead.  
  
She got the Paean, no problem. Or at least, that part of it that one associated with a career soldier. The interlocking roar of weapons and vehicles. But...she gasped.  
  
It wasn’t loud enough for her dad to be Ares. That much she could thank God for. But there was a hint of screaming in the Paean.  _No. No, he can’t be working…_  
  
“Dad… Was there someone else in here a second ago?”  
  
“Huh?” A look of panic crossed Jacob’s face for half a second, before he managed to right it. “Nobody important, just the Danish ambassador…”  
  
Kate’s hands flew to her mouth.  _G-d...the Danish ambassador… He’s the last person…._ The thought caught up with her, and she nodded grimly. What better way for Ares to infiltrate the summit? “We...we have to go, Dad,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry - I want to stay longer, but it’s work.”  
  
“No!” Jacob grabbed her arm as she turned away. “No, you can’t go after him!”  
  
“Wait...you  _know?_ ” Harley cocked her head. “You  _know_  who we’re lookin’ for?”  
  
“You don’t just know…” Kate could tell when her father was trying to hide something. She felt herself swaying on her feet, felt Harley grab her. “You  _spoke_ to him. You...what did you say? What did you  _do?_ ”  
  
“I…” Jacob tried to meet her gaze, but lowered it. “Katy...when you died, a part of me died too. Do…” He drew a ragged breath. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get back to a semblance of normal, afterwards? How hard it was to care for so many things? How...how much I just wanted to die myself? Because you were dead and I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. To say I was  _sorry._ Because it was  _my fault. I_ drove you into the military -  _my_ example,  _my_ expectations…I drove you there, without a thought for what else might be in your life.” He dropped into a chair, head in his hands. “But then...then you came back. It was like...like God himself had reached down and given me a second chance, a chance to make amends and to rebuild things.”  
  
Kate walked across, crouching on the ground in front of him. “I...I’m sorry…”  
  
“And then…” Jacob’s face darkened. “Then  _he_ came. He said that war was coming, a terrible war that nothing could stop. Nothing except  _him_ , and he wouldn’t stop it unless I helped him.” Red-rimmed eyes met Kate’s, and Jacob grabbed her hands. “I...I couldn’t, Katy. I couldn’t risk losing you again...or losing so many others, not when I’ve fought so hard for  _peace._ ”  
  
Even through the maelstrom of emotion that filled her mind, Kate remembered what her father had always taught her, ever since she was a child.  _A real soldier doesn’t fight for glory. Doesn’t fight for medals or for the cheers of the crowd. They fight, so that they can win peace._  
  
“Dad...daddy, I’m not angry. I can understand why...but please, tell me what you did?”  
  
“I couldn’t risk losing you again, and it was just a small thing. We couldn’t get it to work, and it wasn’t something I wanted in their hands anyway…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The Gauntlet,” Jacob finally whispered, voice cracking with shame. “He said, if I gave him the Gauntlet back, then he’d stop the war from happening.”  
  
“Gauntlet?” Harley asked, confused. “What Gauntlet?”  
  
Kate’s hands flew to her mouth, and she reeled back. “Harley,” she said, finally. “Run. Go to the others. Tell them that Ares is the Danish ambassador - the President of the Assembly.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“Go, love.” She forced a smile. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”  
  
As Harley turned and ran, Kate undid the bag she’d carried with her, opening it to reveal her armour. Jacob grabbed her shoulder. “No! Kate, he’s...I don’t know if he’s a god or not, but you  _can’t_ fight him! He…”  
  
Kate paused, in the midst of pulling her armour on over her clothes. “Whatever he said to you, he was lying,” she said. “I promise you that. What that Gauntlet can do in this Assembly...that could be all he needed to start the war. And there’s no way he’d ever  _stop_  a war. He feeds upon it, feeds upon war and death like a vampire. He wouldn’t deny himself World War III just for a Gauntlet.”  
  
Jacob flinched, but still hung on. “Even so...I don’t want to lose…”  
  
Kate turned, smiling reassuringly at her father. “I understand. But dad...I have to. Even if we’re up against overwhelming odds, I have to. You always taught me to. You taught me to stand firm, no matter who or what was ranged against me. To be like Deborah, who brought peace for forty years after she led her rebellion. Or Judith and her handmaiden, or Miriam when she made sure that the Israelite women kept the faith and didn’t bow to the Golden Calf.” Clasping her armour on, and placing her helmet over her head, she turned back to the door. “I’m not a prophet, or Moses’ sister. Hell, I’m not even a soldier anymore. But I  _am_ a warrior, I’m a  _damn_ stubborn Jew, and no matter what I’m going to fight to stop evil being done.”  
  
Raising her blade and shield, she stalked towards the door.  _Ares is going_ down.  _No matter what._

***

 **Assembly Floor, the Hague**  
  
“And so,” the Danish ambassador and President of the Assembly said, voice ringing around the chamber, “it is my belief - my hope - that none of the points of contention raised between the representatives and leaders gathered here today are insurmountable. The United Nations was founded to forever end the danger of war between the nations of Earth, and it is my hope that today, by seeking to reach common ground, we can avoid the spectre of conflict between particular power blocs.”  
  
“The President of the Assembly? That’s not possible.” Oliver signaled over the comm as he walked up towards the security box. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Kate making her way out of Director Kane’s VIP box and heading towards the podium.  
  
“I’m telling you, Oliver; he’s got the gauntlet on his hand.” John responded.  
  
“But...that makes no sense. He’s won multiple awards for working to resolve conflicts around the world. And  _what_ gauntlet?”  
  
“He could have swapped out…”  
  
“We will work hard over the course of this conference, to attempt to avoid the points of contention that have been the bane of international relations over the recent past. I call upon all nations that are currently experiencing increased tensions with their neighbours to relinquish their mutual claims and grievances, fully and freely and without recriminations.”  
  
John blinked. “Wait,  _what_?”  
  
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. Then again as the Ukrainian ambassador, face reddened, rose in the midst of the speech, yelling something about the continued occupation of the Eastern half of his country, even as the ambassador continued to mouth platitudes calling for an end to conflict, and urged the representatives to mutually set aside their grievances, as though utterly ignorant of the furore his words were provoking.  
  
A moment later, just as he sat back down and Ambassador Murphy took the stand - looking askance at the Danish ambassador - Harley burst into the security box. She bent over, hands on her knees as she breathed heavily from running all the way there.  
  
“It’s him - the Danish guy… whew, those stairs - the President is Ares.” Harley explained.  
  
“I’m on him.” Kate said simply over the comm - she sounded angry.  
  
“Now what the hell is this Gauntlet!?” Oliver asked seriously.  
  
“The Gauntlet of Morpheus.” John informed the team gravely. Oliver scratched his head, still a little lost.  
  
“Can it mind control people?” He asked. John shook his head.  
  
“Not directly. But it can amplify aggression the victim already possesses.” John explained. “To the point of mindless rage. Think the aftermath of Yugoslavia’s collapse, happening in minutes--everybody enraged beyond reason over the smallest issue, ethnic strife, whatever.”   
  
“Well, it’s a good thing no one here hates anyone!” Harley said, at first loudly and confidently before trailing off in utter despair, “Oh…  _shit_.” Was all she could manage.  
  
“These animals are a threat to world peace!” The roar split the air as the Ukrainian ambassador pointed at the Russian delegation. The Russian ambassador’s eyes went wide and he stood up as well, knocking over his chair.  
  
“You take that back you degenerate dog!” The Russian ambassador yelled back, stepping around his desk and striding towards the center of the room where Ambassador Murphy had just been cut off mid-speech.  
  
“Ambassadors, sit down!” Murphy demanded, calm but firm as he put out a hand to stop the Russian ambassador as he tried to walk past him.  
  
“Oh,  _Hell_ ,” John muttered.   
  
Behind all of them, Kate was making her way up to the President of the Assembly’s podium without fear of being noticed. She was armoured up and ready, weapon and shield in hand.  
  
“Get your filthy hands off of me!” The Ambassador replied, his nostrils flaring in rage as he grabbed Murphy’s hand and flung him across the room. Oliver and John looked at each other, eyes wide; Murphy was on his feet in an instant, but the diplomats were rising, too, their eyes starting to glow red...  
  
“Oliver? What the hell is going on?” Moira texted him from her spot in the VIP box overlooking the General Assembly. Oliver tapped the communicator in his ear.  
  
“Lex?” Oliver asked over the comm, “I think it’s time to bring out that briefcase.”  
  
**The Hotel**  
  
Back at the hotel, Lex nodded, a satisfied smile crossing his face as he darted towards his room. However, when he opened the door he was surprised to see Diana, standing over his bed and looking at the briefcase--the  _open_  briefcase whose locks she had apparently ripped off without effort. Lex screeched to a halt; the metahuman didn’t even look at him.  
  
“Nice improvements.” She said, genuinely impressed. “You’ve done more in months than Fafnir managed in years.” Lex scowled, reaching behind his back and producing what looked like a 1950s ray gun prop. He didn’t banter, merely bringing it to bear and firing it at Diana. The woman just looked at him, one eyebrow raised with a smirk as the room caught fire around her.   
  
“An impressive toy, mortal. It’ll be fun to see it used in the coming storm.” She walked towards the window, blowing a kiss in Lex’s direction as she leaped out, even while around her the room literally cooked - the bed, the walls, the floor all melting under the brief burst of intense microwaves from Lex’s gun.  
  
“Damn it!” Lex yelled as he ran back out of the room, bringing the communicator up to his mouth to tell Oliver what had transpired.  
  
**The Hague**  
  
Back at the Hague, Lois was storming out of the American box in the VIP section towards the section reserved for the Russian heads of state. She clenched and unclenched her teeth, furious at the disrespect the Russian ambassador had just shown - and the Ukrainian ambassador for breaking protocol; but she would deal with him later. A voice deep within Lois told her that this was wrong, that she shouldn’t be escalating, that this wasn’t  _her_...but it was drowned out by the pounding of rage at the  _fucking arrogant sexist Russians and their fucking pig of a leader_! She reached the door to the Russian box and flung it open with force that surprised her even through the haze of rage.  
  
“President Lebed, what the hell is going on!?” She demanded to know. She had barely gotten the door open when a chair flew past her face.  
  
“I won’t let the Motherland fall to some American bitch!” President Lebed roared as he tackled Lois in the mid-section, taking them out into the hallway. Lois reached behind her, pulling the water fountain off of the wall and slamming it into Lebed’s head. She didn’t even stop to consider how she had done it, the voice at the back of her mind reduced to halfhearted protests.  
  
Senator Queen peeked her head out of the box, looking in absolute horror as the Russian and American Presidents tried to kill each other. Lebed caught the water foundation during Lois’s second swing, crushing it in his large hands and flinging it across the hallway (which Moira barely dodged). Lebed then swung on top of Lois and placed his hands around her throat, trying to choke her to death.  
  
“Stop it you stupid oaf!” Moira yelled as she stalked across the hallway, now finding herself slipping into the sane adult role that she so often found herself in. She swatted at Lebed’s face with her hand, but he seemed to be in a world of his own as Lois looked up at him with bulging eyes. When Moira tried to push him off, Lebed flung her across the hallway with a flick of his wrist.  
  
“Not so tough now, eh?” Lebed said darkly as he stared at Lois, who was starting to turn purple. Her vision had just started to go black when suddenly Lebed was gone. As it returned, she strangely saw Mr. Antipov standing over her and offering a hand to help her up.  
  
“A… Antipov?” She asked drearily. But Antipov was staring in the direction of Lebed, whom he had apparently knocked away with a heavy swipe of a chair. Now he was pointing a gun at his own president. Someone grabbed Lois--Moira? NO! She couldn’t stop now, Lebed was down, she had to take it out on that fucking bastard…  
  
Then Moira yelped as a French diplomat was thrown through a door, straight into Lois as she tried to rise, and both dignitaries fell through another door and into a brawl between the Armenian and Azeri diplomatic staff--one of the few things that actually made  _sense_ here.   
  
“Let’s just take a breath here, Mr. President.” Antipov pleaded. Lebed looked like a rabid dog, blood coming from his mouth where Antipov had clocked him.  
  
“This is treason!” Lebed growled, standing up and approaching. “You worthless dog, I’ll have you…”   
  
“This is fucking crazy!” Antipov replied, flipping off the safety. “And  _this_  is loaded with depleted uranium frag rounds.”   
  
Lebed snarled at his erstwhile lieutenant with crimson eyes before slowly backing out of the hallway. “You  _will_  pay for this!” Lebed promised. “I’ll be back, and my men will cuff you on the spot!”   
  
“What the hell is happening to them?” Moira asked. Antipov saw with some concern that the door to the nearby stairwell was open, a hand sized indent on the corner. Whatever was going on, he knew he couldn’t let the Russian and American Presidents kill each other.  
  
“I don’t know. But I think that we’re the only sane people in this God-damned madhouse.  _Итак, союзники?_ ”   
  
Moira looked at the proffered hand, and groaned. “Sure. Allies. For now.”   
  
**Security Box**  
  
“Shit.” Oliver hissed as he kicked a man in the sternum, launching him right into Harley’s waiting baseball bat. John turned around from where he had pinned six guards against the wall, knocking them out.  
  
“What else could it be!?” Harley asked incredulously, “Ya lose at Angry Birds?” Oliver set his phone down, his face incredibly grim.  
  
“It’s my mom: the American and Russian Presidents are unaccounted for. They’re under Ares’s influence.” Oliver informed the team. Harley shrugged.  
  
“Ya, and half the Assembly.” She countered. John dropped the guards, putting his hand to his ear.  
  
“Ambassador Murphy, sir? It’s John. Be advised - we’ve got two nuclear briefcases in the hands of hypnotized people.” John relayed the information quickly. Oliver looked at a nearby screen and saw Ambassador Murphy drop a few ambassadors that were clawing at his face and immediately run towards the Presidential VIP boxes.  
  
“Oh…” Harley said - the day just kept getting worse. She followed the trio out into the hallway: and nearly got barreled over as the air shimmered, and then a golden streak flew past them. The streak stopped a few feet away - revealing a familiar bull-armored young man.  
  
“This asshole again!” Harley yelled. John stepped in front of her in the hallway.  
  
“You and Oliver track down the Presidents. I’ll handle this fool.” John said fiercely, brandishing his ring.   
  
“ _It is you who is the fool_ ,” Brazen Bull snarled. “ _Your weak-minded leaders are nothing but pawns for our patron: so corrupt he was able to arrange my escape with ease – mine and others’. And now, with my new armour…_  
  
John’s hand construct sent him flying through the roof, and John rocketed after him, thinking only of keeping the terrorist away from the dignitaries.   
  
Looking out, Oliver saw Kate make it to the podium, bull-rushing the President of the Assembly. Then...his eyes went wide as the man seemed to burst into flame, revealing only a tall, humanoid figure, clad in heavy armour, no skin or face visible beneath it save for burning eyes.  
  
_Oh Jesus...Kate..._  
  
**Ambassador’s Office**  
  
“Ma’am, do you know what’s going on?” An aide asked as he tapped Barbara on the shoulder. She glanced behind her - this kid couldn’t be old enough to drink. And yet here he was.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be asking your boss?” She replied, trying to deflect. She was looking through binoculars across the yard towards the main assembly, where she could tell something was certainly going down.  
  
“I’m afraid she’s unaccounted for.” A voice came from the other side of the room. Barbara spun around, looking past the handful of aides towards an Asian woman with glowing red eyes - she was holding the limp form of Secretary Waller.  
  
“Oh, shi-” Barbara tried to say before the Tiger was pulled backwards, a hand around her throat. Barbara spotted the same British guy from before.  
  
“John!?” She asked incredulously as the aides were already fleeing to the far sides of the room.  
  
“No time for tea, doll - get these kids outta here!” John Sheldrake, AKA Squire said as he wrestled the Tiger to the ground, the terrorist super stabbing relentlessly at the cyborg behind her. For the moment Squire was avoiding the blows, but that could only last for so long. Waller was slowly picked herself up by the door, rubbing her chin where apparently she had been hit in the face.  
  
“Secretary, we’ve got to get you -” Barbara tried to say as she rushed up to Waller. Amanda just held up a hand, somehow forcing Barbara to stop talking.  
  
“You’ve got to get my staff out of here - and the British staff at the end of the hallway.” Amanda said calmly.  
  
“Where’d you think she was going next!?” John grunted from behind the Tiger as they slammed through a wall into a nearby conference room.  
  
“I’ll handle this bitch.” Amanda said, cracking her knuckles and following the chaos into the conference room. A few minutes later, John rolled out, his hair askew and a nasty cut mark across his face. Barbara heard the sound of further scrapping in the other room, and then the definite sound of a wall breaking.  
  
“You heard the Secretary, get your asses moving!” Barbara said as she turned to the cowering interns. She pointed a finger at John.  
  
“You - round up your guys.” Barbara said, holding out a hand to help John up.  
  
“Yes ma’am; but there’s one problem.” John said, “this Ares guy; he’s got men blocking all the exits.” Barbara sighed at that.  
  
“It’s never easy. Okay, let’s get everyone together and then we’ll worry about an exit. Savvy?” Barbara said. John grinned widely.  
  
“I  _like_  you.” He said as the duo began escorting the interns out of the office.  
  
**Assembly Floor**  
  
Athene raised her shield, blocking a bolt of lightning from hitting a cluster of fleeing translators and aides as they poured out of the room. The bolt’s energy shuddered through the shield, making pain shoot up her arm and making her cry out. The shield lit up red, the circuitry inside activating as it strained to protect her against the forces unleashed.  
  
With a roar, she shoved the shield hard and threw the bolt away, then charged forwards. Ares backed away from the hard blow she tried to unleash with it…only to roar with surprise as her spear sank into his side, it's own circuits glowing blue.  
  
Athene didn’t have time to gloat. Not when a backhand sent her flying across the chamber into a tier of seats. She hissed with pain as she tried desperately to pick herself up.  
  
Ares stalked over. His face wasn’t visible anymore, lost in the black T-slit on his helm. Only his eyes burned, burned with all the fury of detonating H-Bombs. “You think to stand against  _me_?” he snarled, in a voice of clattering tank treads. “You? Not even Hippolyta herself could withstand me. I am a  _god_ , and you are not even an Amazon. Just a lost girl who got a few little tricks.”  
  
Athene forced herself to her feet, dodging desperately as flame boiled from Ares’ left gauntlet, filling the chamber with the reek of napalm. He pulled his left arm back, preparing to hurl something else, but Athene hurled her spear hard. Ares’ arms moved in a blur, knocking the projectile from the air…and leaving his right arm exposed.  
  
The Lasso of Power snaked around his wrist, and Athene  _heaved._ The God of War flipped, head over heels, through the air, slamming into a wall, only to launch himself into the air with a jet-like shriek and slam into Athene, picking her from the ground and smashing her into the other wall. “Yield to your better!” he snarled again. “Bow before the true god of mankind!”  
  
**Outer corridors**  
  
"This way! C'mon now, move it!" Eris punctuated her remarks by snacking a 'roided-up usher in the face with her bat, then knocking his legs from under him.  
  
Fortunately, none of the fleeing aides seemed much inclined to doubt her. They seemed intent on getting away as their bosses got into the fighting - save for those ones who'd joined the fighting.  
  
"C'mon..." Eris grabbed a newcomer by the arm, only to draw back as President Mari glared down at her.  
  
"And who might  _you_  be?" the taller woman demanded.  
  
Eris grinned. “I’m the crazy chick tryin’ to save people from the mess in there.” She paused. “Though...why ain’t you foamin’ at the mouth? Looked like the leaders an’ ambassadors all got hit with the crazy stick.”  
  
“I’m...unsure. It happened, and I just knew I had to get my aides to safety. Now I have to get my country’s ambassador to refrain from murdering the ambassador to Ethiopia. But get them out of here.” She indicated a clutch of terrified-looking besuited people in their twenties.  
  
Eris blinked. “Jeez, didya raid the day-care centre for these ones?” She paused. “Though then again, ya ain’t the oldest President in the world. Maybe that’s why you ain’t gone mad? It only effects old conservatives with grey hair an’ bad dress sense.”  
  
Mari folded her arms. “Tell me, are you  _mildly_ insane,  _quite_ insane, or just the whole way? Because…”  
  
She got no further as a set of doors broke open and more men, clearly on Titan’s Blood, emerged. One of them waved the others forward in a charge. Harley raised her bat, ready to swing…  
  
Only to be completely blindside when the President of the East African Federation ran forward at full speed, slamming into them with all the force and power of a charging rhino, scattering most and sending them flying into walls. One was trampled under her feet, unconscious and with what looked like broken bones.  
  
One, left standing, turned and tried to swing at her...only to shriek and collapse, twitching, as electricity filled his body. From where Eris was standing, it was like the older woman had become a human version of an electric eel...and as she did, the fox-head brooch she wore blazed gold.  
  
_Lord… The President of the East African Federation’s a metahuman._ Or had some kind of super-tech at her disposal. One or the other.  
  
As Eris watched, Mari bent down and grabbed one man by the lapels. “Tell me how to undo what you’ve done to them, and be quick,” she commanded.  
  
The man laughed. “Only Ares can...and even now, he fights the Amazon bitch. When she dies…”  
  
Eris gasped, then set her jaw.  _No way. Not on my watch._  
  
“Get your people outa here, then...think of something else ta do!” she called as she ran.  
  
“What? Where are you going?”  
  
“To save my girlfriend!”  
  
**VIP Rooms**  
  
“Lois!” Oliver was yelling as he sprinted from room to room down the hallway of one of the outer layers of the UN General Assembly. He was going room to room, desperately trying to avoid others for the moment - ducking and weaving under superpowered and super angered ambassadors, translators, and interns.  
  
“President Lane!” He swore he saw a flash of red hair towards the end of the hallway. Just need to run a little faster -  
  
“Oh!” He yelled as he turned a corner and very nearly lost his head to a swung briefcase. The nuclear football missed his head and slammed into the wall, cracking the plaster.  
  
  
“I don’t need a babysitter, Queen!” Lois said as she stood over Oliver, pantsuit barely out of order. He held up two hands in mock surrender, chuckling nervously.  
  
“Now Madame President, if we can just take a minu-” But Oliver didn’t get to finish, rolling to the side as avoiding another crushing blow from the suitcase.  
  
“Sorry about this.” He said as he lunged at Lois’s midsection, attempting to tackle her to the ground. Unfortunately, he had the sensation of bouncing off of a concrete wall as Lois just tanked the blow with her newfound super strength.  
  
“Not good!” Oliver back-flipped away from another blow.  
  
“Now you’re starting to piss me off!” Possessed Lois exclaimed.  
  
“Oh, now you’re pissed? What the hell were you before?” He quipped as he shifted to the side of another blow. Though she had been granted some kind of insane super strength by Ares, it appeared that her reflexes weren’t that much better. But still, being agile wasn’t going to help Oliver retrieve the nuclear briefcase.  
  
“This has gotta be treason.” He said as he produced a knife from his pocket and began staring at Lois’s wrist. Worst case scenario, he could just slice her hand off… Okay that idea sounded even worse now that he thought about it for a moment. He turned his head and spotted a nearby support beam - one of the strongest hunks of metal in the building.  
  
“Come on slow poke! You hit like a girl!” Oliver said as he backed up against the beam. Lois grunted in anger, following after him dutifully and swinging the nuclear briefcase as her own personal hammer. Oliver ducked to the side, allowing the briefcase to slam into the support beam. It wasn’t invincible, but the thing was certainly built to be damn near close to it.  
  
“That all you got?” Oliver avoided another blow - he heard a cracking noise and hoped it was the briefcase and not the support beam. Unfortunately, this thought cost him a crucial moment - Lois finally stopped relying on the briefcase as a bludgeoning weapon and kicked Oliver in the shin. He was able to move enough that it hit him at an angle, but even then Lois’s enhanced strength forced him to the floor.  
  
Lois stood over the temporarily downed vigilante for a moment, catching her breathe. Then she turned around, heading to the nearest office and opening the briefcase.  
  
“Time to end these assholes once and for all.” Lois said with a maniacal grin as she tapped the button that would activate the briefcase. To her dismay, nothing happened.  
  
“The fuck!?” She exclaimed as a spark jumped out of the case at her - apparently it had been damaged. She grunted in frustration, turning from the office and heading out in the General Assembly floor.  
  
**East wing.**    
  
“What in the ninety-nine names of God is going on out there?” Ambassador ibn Hussein muttered. Amal bint-Selim al-Baghdadi, publicly known as the super Seif al-Islam, followed him to the door, left hand shifting form as he moved to open the door for the Ambassador.   
  
Before the super could do so, the door was torn clean off of its hinges as a man with bulging veins defined against his skin powered through. Amal grabbed the Ambassador and hauled him backwards, recognizing the signs of Titan’s Blood in the thug.   
  
“We’ve got one that’s free of the Gauntlet in here!” the man called back into the hall in English. A towering brunette stuck her head in, and grinned as Amal extended his blades all the way.   
  
“Ooh, she looks cute. You two, help him, kill the Ambassador and  _try_  not to damage the girl too much. Ares might make some use of her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a nuclear war to start.”   
  
Two more goons on the Blood stepped in, cocking pistols.  _Alqarf!_  Those were super-killers, SIG-Sauers if Amal knew his guns--and he knew his guns  _too_  well, these past few months.   
  
“ _Stay behind me_ ,” Amal growled, his armblades igniting. “ _And I’m a **man** , you الكلبة_  _الكافرة!_ ”   
  
“ _Watch_  the slurs in public,” Ambassador ibn Hussein cautioned instinctively as he flipped a table to hide behind it. Then the thugs were closing in and Amal  _moved_.   
  
He ducked under the first shot and flipped over, blade seeking flesh, and was rewarded with a scream of pain as the tip of his right dug into a thigh, flesh crisping and burning around the flaming sword. A second shot rang out, and the Ambassador cursed; Amal rolled to his feet and lunged at the man who’d taken the shot--and he was grabbed around the midsection and forced to the ground.   
  
A fist plowed into his face, and Amal yelled in pain, the voice disguiser crushing into his lips and teeth before being torn free. He brought his left up, and the sword blade bit deep, met bone, slid off, and punctured the other side. The thug screamed in pain and cut off into a horrible gurgle, collapsing onto Amal as his lungs were burned out by the sword.  _Alqarf_ , he needed to move--Amal pushed the weight off…  
  
The first shot snapped through his veil and ripped through his earlobe, and Amal screamed, high and pained, ducking and rolling as training kicked in. The second shot bit into his lower leg, and Amal lashed out blindly--one of the thugs cursed as he tripped while stumbling backwards.   
  
“Bet she looks pretty beneath the veil,” one of the thugs commented in English. “Did you hear these A-rabs, the men can’t control themselves when they see a woman so they have to wear those things?”   
  
“Seriously, Dwayne? Not the time,” the one climbing to his feet admonished as he held a beeline on Amal’s head, the super trying to get to his feet. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, girl.”   
  
“I’m  _not_  a girl!”   
  
“Girl, woman, makes no difference to me, Ares is paying me damn well to deal with you like the boss lady wants.”   
  
Then a shoe hit him in the head, and he stumbled sideways, the gun going off and hitting the floor harmlessly. “What the f--”   
  
Amal spun like lightning. Dwayne yelled in surprise as Amal’s left sliced out, and the thug’s gun parted like butter under the flaming monomolecular edge. Amal spun back, his right coming up, and batted aside the other thug’s gun before impaling his shoulder. The bigger man screamed in agony, convulsing as Amal turned back with his left just in time to catch Dwayne in the chest. The thug called Dwayne’s eyes went wide as the momentum of his charge impaled him on the arm-blade.   
  
Amal dropped him and turned back to the last thug, who was punching weakly at Amal’s elbow, neck, and breasts. He looked  _afraid_ , something Amal hadn’t seen from an enemy in too long. He leaned in close and morphed his left arm back to pull down his veil.   
  
“I’m a  _man_  and I’m tired of explaining it, you son of a camel-fucking whore.”   
  
Amal’s left shifted back into the flaming sword, and he stabbed the larger man through the neck.   
  
The body dropped to the floor, and Amal stumbled as he turned back to where the Ambassador was hiding. Ibn Hussein hurried over, catching the super as his leg gave out.   
  
“I have you, Seif al-Islam; hold on. How seriously are you injured?”   
  
“Leg, not working. Face, hurt. Bruises.”   
  
“I’ll see what I can do.” Ibn Hussein cursed under his breath. “I think one of your leg bones might be damaged; the bullet hole is deep.”   
  
“Another worry for my list,” the super grimaced. “That makes three. Paying for my reassignment surgery, killing the false Caliph, and now explaining this to  _walida_...”   
  
Ibn Hussein took off his tie and tied it tight above Amal’s leg wound. “If it helps, I can deal with two of those for you,” the Ambassador grumbled. “If it means  _that_  much to you I suppose I can divert some funds and get you that surgery.”   
  
“You’re joking.” Ibn Hussein shook his head in response as he tore off the lower leg of Amal’s pants.   
  
“I’m about to use my  _keffiyeh_  as a bandage on a girl young enough to be my granddaughter while some terrorist faction attacks a peace conference meant to prevent a third World War, this is  _not_  the time for jokes.” Ibn Hussein stood to grab a water pitcher from one of the surviving tables. “If you want a man’s body badly enough that you put it above pulling Daesh out by the root, then I can make things happen. But you  _will_  wear padding in public so long as you work for the government of Iraq, at the discretion of the state metahuman bureau.”   
  
Amal chuckled in spite of himself. “Of course. Of course, you can’t have your propaganda fouled up by me embracing myself.” He hissed in pain as the Ambassador began to pour the water on his leg.   
  
Ibn Hussein cleaned the wound out and covered it as best he could. “I don’t have to  _understand_  your lifestyle. I don’t have to  _like_  it. Your image is no longer yours to control. But, you risk your life on a daily basis for the people of Iraq.” He tied the keffiyeh tight. “And I owe you enough to keep you on an even keel.”   
  
Amal snorted. “That figures. But I suppose I could expect no better.”  _Because common decency is rare enough in this damned world...but at least it’s_ something _._  
  
**Assembly Floor**  
  
“Give up.” Ares’ voice was gentler now, as Athene fought to get back to her feet. “You know it’s inevitable.”  
  
“Go to Hell.” Athene could taste blood in her mouth, she could barely see, and every part of her body hurt so much…  
  
“War is the default state of mankind, girl. Has there ever been a time when war has not been raging somewhere in the world? Has there ever been a time when man does not glory in the pomp and triumphalism of war?”  
  
_I can’t do this. Oh Lord, I hurt too much, please just let me die…_  
  
“It’s not something to be resisted, it’s…”  
  
Ares was cut short by a colossal explosion – Kate felt the heat on her mouth from the other side of the assembly room. She saw Ares being knocked to the ground, just before half the wall fell on him.  
  
A second later, she saw Eris come running in. “Hey there!” came her bright greeting, just as she slapped a lump of C-4 and a timer pencil on Ares’ helmet.  
  
The explosion tore the heart of the room out as she leapt next to Athene. “Red! I got you Red, you’ll be fine, I…”  
  
She suddenly shrieked and convulsed as a bolt of electricity slammed into her. “YOU DARE TO TAKE UP ARMS AGAINST YOUR GOD, MORTAL? YOU WILL BURN IN AGONY FOR THIS!”  
  
More shrieks followed as another bolt slammed into her…only for the Lasso to snake out again and grab Ares around the throat, then yank him in close.  
  
“ _You hurt Harley_.” The voice slammed across the room like a coffin lid shutting.  
  
As the god struggled to break away, Athene drew her sword and brought it down.  _Hard_.  
**  
VIP Rooms**  
  
“Did you hear that?” Moira asked tapping Marshal Antipov on the shoulder. He grunted, holding up a hand to shush her. Before he could, he heard it to - a shuffling towards the back of the basement that they had found themselves in. Antipov scowled, moving forward slowly with his gun and flashlight up.  
  
He had only just turned the corner when a hand reached out and grabbed the barrel of Antipov’s gun. Though he was an older man, he reacted quickly enough - he turned the corner, kicking out with his full force. He was met with the sight of a stout British man, who leapt backwards from the kick and slapped Antipov in the face.  
  
“The fuck-?” Antipov rubbed his face, as the British man smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet.  
  
“You one of the crazy ones?” The man asked. Antipov shrugged, hand inching towards the back of his belt where his knife was hidden.  
  
“Depends on what you mean by that.” Antipov said. Suddenly a redheaded woman appeared behind the British man. She grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly pulled him behind him.  
  
“Quit fucking around, we -” Barbara began telling John when Moira inched past Antipov.  
  
“Barbara, honey! It’s been so long!” Moira walked up to Barbara and wrapped the younger woman in a big bear hug.  
  
“We simply must catch up.” Moira said while Barbara stood there, a little embarrassed.  
  
“Yes ma’am, but first we’ve got to get the hell out of dodge. Is it just the two of you?” Barbara asked seriously. Antipov nodded and sighed, quietly accepting the gun that John proffered back to him.  
  
“It is. Take the Senator. I’ve got to find my President.” Antipov replied. Moira looked between Barbara and Antipov.  
  
“You’ll need help, I bet -” Moira began to protest.  
  
“Lebed is my responsibility, ma’am.” Antipov cut her off. There was a pause, and Barbara shrugged, pulling Moira into the group that was bubbling just behind her - they looked young, mostly interns and the like.  
  
“I’ll leave you to it, then Marshal.” Barbara said. Moira gave Antipov one last glance before she began following the others towards the exit that Barbara had apparently found. They hadn’t even left his eyesight when Antipov heard the shuffling sound - elsewhere in the basement. With a scowl he turned and headed in that direction.  
  
***  
  
“Where the  _hell_ is my sister?” Lucy yelled over the comm as she ducked under a desk and began following the path Ambassador Murphy had carved towards the Presidential VIP box. She was stopped in her tracks when she rammed head first into an immovable brunette rock. Lucy collapsed backwards, and looked up in fear as the Goddess of War gave her a vicious grin.   
  
“Flamebird - I don’t believe we got to finish our conversation last time we met.” Diana said as she strode for the non powered hero. This time, she didn’t waste time bantering, but merely brought her sword down on Lucy’s head.  _Shi…_

Diana’s sword was an inch from Lucy’s skull when President Lebed’s silent blonde secretary stepped past Lucy in a blur, grabbing Diana’s sword with her bare left hand and looking the other woman in the eye, the blonde’s own eyes igniting red-hot.   
  
“ _Виберіть когось із власного розміру_ ,” Kara Zor-El snarled.  _Pick on someone your own size_. Diana stumbled back, eyes widening in shock. The sword, made of Celestial bronze cooled in the waters of the Lethe itself,  _bent_  in the Kryptonian’s hand, and one punch sent Diana flying backwards into a wall, followed shortly by Kara, the superhero shedding her disguise to reveal her costume beneath.   
  
**Kara’s Apartment, Metropolis, 12 Hours Ago**  
  
“I must admit,” the woman called Karen Starr chuckled, “this is not what I expected. Tea?”   
  
“What were you expecting? And yes, please,” Oliver replied.   
  
“I honestly expected to be called by someone in an extreme panic with the apocalypse in progress,” Karen--or rather, Kara, as Lucy had told Oliver to address her--said, pouring two mugs of Earl Grey from an elaborate glass vessel on her apartment’s sole dining table. “I admit, this is more warning than I was used to back in my first career, Mr. Queen.”   
  
“You’re awfully open with me.” The tea was piping-hot and well-steeped.   
  
“Lucy called ahead. So. You need muscle.”   
  
“Just in case. Ares is supposed to be a deity, we’re assuming at least A-list if you go by normal metahuman classification. And Lucy’s probably told you about Diana.”   
  
“The A-lister from your Africa mission. I recall. Athene cannot handle both at once, not even with your other allies as backup.” The woman drained her tea and set the mug aside. “I’m in.”   
  
“That was fast.”   
  
Kara shrugged. “I like to help people. Do you have an airplane ticket or should I fly directly? I can go through space or fly below-radar.” Oliver made a loud slurping sound with his tea and began coughing. In an instant Kara was in the kitchen, then a microsecond later at his side with a towel to clean the tea off of his shirt.  
  
“Are you alright, Mr. Queen?” She asked politely. Oliver set the tea down and grinned.  
  
“Yeah, I’m good - it’s just; that’s the coolest question anyone’s ever asked me.”  
  
**Starbucks Coffee Shop, Hague, 4 Hours Ago**  
  
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Oliver said as he ‘accidentally’ spilled his entire cup of coffee on the front shirt of the Russian bodyguard. The large bearded man grabbed Oliver by the collar, lifting him up in the air and causing Oliver’s hipster glasses to go comically askew.   
  
“What the hell is your problem!?” The guard asked in Russian. Oliver gave an awkward laugh.   
  
“No hablas espanol?” He said awkwardly with a thick Southern accent. The other guard placed a hand on the first guard’s shoulder. Kara took this chance to slip into the bathroom after the crying secretary.   
  
“He’s just a stupid tourist.” The guard said in Russian, and then in English to Oliver, “You pay for our drinks.” Oliver gave a horrendous laugh, Harley tried not to vomit from her spot in the corner of the coffee shop.   
  
In the bathroom, a tall blonde in nondescript clothes strolled up behind the secretary, placing a calming hand on her shoulder.   
  
“Are you okay?” She asked in Russian, with what an expert in Russian dialects might notice as a faint Kiev accent. The woman paused, dabbing at her eyes as she turned to face Kara.   
  
“Nobody is supposed to be in here with me.” The secretary said innocently enough.   
  
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I saw you crying and wanted to help.”   
  
“I’ll be okay. It’s just my boss - well, he’s very anxious, because of the negotiations. I work for President Lebed of the Eurasian Coordinate.”   
  
“You are his secretary,  _да_?”  
  
“Yes, it pays well, but...” The smaller woman laughed shakily. “It’s a bit stressful.”   
  
“No woman should have to deal with that kind of abuse. I used to be a secretary. I could take over for you, if you like.”   
  
The secretary laughed nervously. “No, that won’t be possible, I might hate my job but it isn’t like I can just...mmph!” She grabbed at the arm clamped over her mouth, but the secretary, though she was a tall and fit woman, might as well have been clutching at steel.   
  
“I am truly sorry about this,” the taller blonde murmured as she brought a syringe from her back pocket and brought it to the terrified secretary’s shoulder.   
  
A few minutes later, the tall woman, dressed in the secretary’s clothes, stepped back out. Her hair was a few shades lighter than that of the woman she’d replaced, and she was several inches taller, but her bodyguards were more concerned with foreign threats than someone so invisible as a mere assistant, even if one had not been busy complaining over the state of his shirt.   
  
Harley ducked to hide her grin as the “secretary” was escorted back to the UN building. She pulled her wrist and the miniature radio strapped on in place of a watch to her mouth, hiding the movement with a fake cough. “We’re in.”   
  
**The Hague, three hours ago.**  
  
“Ivan Fyodorovitch, we  _cannot_  continue to antagonize the Americans like this,” Marshal Antipov stated. “Even if we flip Zaire and convince China to break neutrality--the latter of which I find  _highly_  unlikely unless the Americans commit diplomatic suicide or outright threaten invasion. A conciliatory attitude is  _essential_  to avoid economic disaster.”   
  
“And what will  _conciliation_  bring us?” Lebed snarled. “An  _admission_  that Russia is weak, Konstantin Stephanovitch? No! Not when we have the advantage, not when our military situation…”   
  
“Our  _military situation_? This is not the Great Patriotic War! Nuclear Armageddon will bring us nothing but the destruction of Mother Russia!”   
  
“Nuclear Armageddon  _for the Americans_ ,” Lebed hissed. His secretary stiffened, going still. “I have made arrangements…”   
  
“Arrangements?  _Arrangements?_  To disable the American nuclear stockpile in a first strike? Do not think that you can bluff  _me_  with a few vague promises, Ivan Fyodorovitch…”   
  
“ _Silence_ , Marshal, lest you spend the rest of your career minding submarines in Murmansk!” Lebed snarled. The secretary brought her hand to her ear, scratched gently, then again. She blinked in surprise, then returned to her computer. “I have made contact with a person who has the ability to disable the American nuclear stockpile, and have paid his price. The Motherland will be preserved in the coming war,  _trust_  me on that.”   
  
“ _Coming war_?” Even a couple of the masked C-lister metahumans standing in patriotic colors along the walls looked uncomfortable at that. “What are you  _talking_  about?”   
  
Lebed smirked like a fox in a henhouse. “You will see, Marshal--you will see.”   
  
He snapped his fingers at the supers. “Lieutenant Pushkin,  _Starshina_  Smirnov, go with Marshal Antipov to the General Assembly. I am sure that there is some effort that can still be undertaken to sway the vote in our favor, and I have business that I must deal with in private.”   
  
Antipov snarled angrily, but left in a huff with the supers. The secretary excused herself with a meek complaint about feminine problems, which Lebed’s human bodyguards waved her off to deal with, not wanting to  _think_  about those particular matters.   
  
In the hallway, the blonde brought a slim radio communicator out of her purse. “Lebed is not Ares. But I think that Marshel Lebed has made a  _deal_  with him.”   
  
**United Nations General Assembly, The Hague, Now**  
  
Lucy shook her head to clear the fog of shock, then pulled her wrist up to her mouth. “Kara’s in the game. Oliver, we need to get anyone who’s not under that Ares guy’s control out of here, now.”   
  
“ _On my way. You good?_ ”   
  
“Yeah. Uh, nearly got bisected, but, you know, all in a day’s work.” She let out a short laugh as she vaulted over a table and Tasered a Russian diplomatic staffer wielding a shoe. “Kara’s tearing that Diana woman a new one, do you have eyes on Athene?”   
  
“ _Kate’s on Ares. Tell Kara to finish her fight fast, it’s not going well._ ”   
  
“Shit.” Lucy ducked under a wild swing from a British diplomat older than her father, grabbed him with as much care she could muster, and cuffed him with his arms awkwardly behind his back. “I’m finding Lois. She’ll have Captain Freedom with her, he’s an A-lister, ought to be able to help.”   
***  
John Stewart scowled as he stared at Lonnie, also known as the Brazen Bull. They had found their way to an evacuated street close to the General Assembly. Pretty ideal for the situation, but John was itching to put the Bull down so that he could return to the Assembly and help prevent what might possibly be World War 3.  
  
“Well, are we just going to make eyes at each other all day?” John asked, using his ring to create an approximation of a blanket which he waved in front of him. He offered a wiseass grin as the Brazen Bull charged at him. At the last moment, John ducked and created a small springboard with his ring. Lonnie unwittingly launched himself into the air.  
  
Right into the waiting mace of Shayera. She swung with all she had, knocking the acolyte of Ares to the ground. Lonnie tried to flip over, but a combination of a lantern generated wrapping and swift kick to the back from Shayera knocked him on his ass. John ripped the helmet off of his mask.  
  
The young man spat. “You might have won today, minion of Order, but you only delay the inevitable! Anarchy will prevail - mankind will break free of the shackles of government and business, each person will seize their own destiny and…” He was cut off as Shayera unceremoniously hit him hard with the pommel of her mace, knocking him out.  
  
John turned to Shayera, grinning.  
  
“Thanks for the assist. We always did make a good team.” John nodded. The winged woman just shrugged in response.  
  
“It was more entertaining than sitting at your blasted tower.” She said as the two of them flew into the air, leaving the handcuffed and now powerless Lonnie behind them.  
  
“I think you might have a heart under there after all, if you ask me.” John said with a grin as the General Assembly came back into view. He pointed.  
  
“Looks like Barb’s got a group out, she’s -” John trailed off as a fast moving figure appeared behind Barbara, Squire, and the group of refugees they were escorting the back way out of the United Nations building. He didn’t finish his sentence, instead rocketing towards the building.  
  
Shayera got there moments ahead of him, slamming her mace into the Tiger’s midsection and sending her rocketing into the ground. If it were a cartoon, the woman would have stars flying around her head. As it was, John and Shayera stood over the Tiger with their arms crossed.  
  
“Touch my friends again, and I’ll put you a six feet deeper next time.” Shayera threatened. The Tiger leaned her head back, holding up her hands in surrender.  
***  
“Mom!” Oliver yelled as he slid across a desk, kicking a nearby ambassador in the neck and causing him to drop the chair that he was holding above Senator Moira Queen.  
  
“Oliver!” The Senator called anxiously as Oliver turned to face her.  
  
“I told you not to come; we’ve got to get out of here.” He told her quickly. Behind him, the ambassador was already rising back to his feet. Moira grabbed Oliver by the shoulder, pushing him out of the way and punching the ambassador in the face, decking him. Oliver looked at her in surprise.  
  
“We’re more alike than you think.” Moira said with a shrug as the two began sprinting across the main auditorium, which had turned into an utter shit show.  
  
“Help!” They heard as they neared the door. A quick glance showed a secretary hiding under a desk as two ambassadors fought with a security guard on top of the desk. Oliver tried to drag Moira, who had stopped them.  
  
“Let’s get out of here!” He said, but Moira wasn’t moving.  
  
“You have to go help her!” She said, adamantly. Oliver just gave her a worried look.  
  
“I’ll come back - after I get you to safety.” He said seriously. Moira shook her head, grabbing Oliver’s hand and taking it off of her arm. She gave him her best mom look.  
  
“I’ll get out just fine. You stay and help.” Moira told him. “Captain Freedom was still on our side the last I checked, I need to help him stop any attempt at a nuclear launch.” There was a momentary pause as they looked at each other. Finally Oliver sighed and ran towards the desk with the secretary, while Moira turned and ran out of the room.  
***  
At that precise moment, Audie Leon “Captain Freedom” Murphy was busy trying to pull the President of the United States off of an elderly British senior diplomat.   
  
“Call me an uneducated wayward child  _one more time_ , motherfucker!”   
  
“Madam President!” the superhero insisted for the fifth time. “For God’s sake, calm down!” He had to be careful, a fraction too much force and the strength that could rip through a Tiger 2’s armor with one punch would instantly kill two world leaders. “Waller, what the Hell has control of the diplomats?”   
  
“ _Working on it, Murphy. Danvers! I need a solution_ yesterday _! Murphy, be advised that Power Woman is in the fight_.”   
  
“About God-damn time,” the old man muttered. “The President is under the influence, she resisted at first but succumbed. Metahumans seem to have some resistance, and it doesn’t affect everyone equally.” He finally safely extricated the President from her target, shoved the elderly fellow away carefully enough to not break any bones, and sat the leader of the free world down forcibly in the Korean ambassador’s chair before dumping the entire contents of the Finnish ambassador’s pitcher of water over her head.  _That_  finally snapped Lois Lane out of it, and the red light faded from her eyes as she sputtered and coughed in angry confusion.   
  
“Gah! What the...Major Murphy, what the  _hell_  do you think you’re doing? And what’s going on?”   
  
“Ares has revealed himself and attacked the summit personally, ma’am. You were under his control, he has mind control of some sort that’s left most of the diplomats irrationally aggressive.”   
  
“Son of a…” Lois’s eyes widened. “Lucy?”   
  
Murphy put his hand to his earpiece. “Waller, status on Lucy Lane?”   
  
“ _Alive and active. She’s pretty good in combat, for a nonpowered person._ ”   
  
“Of course, she was a Marine,” Murphy pointed out, vaguely disgruntled at the unintended slight towards American military training. “She’s in the fight and so far intact, Madam President. I’ll get you out of here, Secret Service is…”   
  
“No.”   
  
“...Ma’am?”   
  
“This Ares feeds on violence, right? Well right now, people are seeing their so-called diplomats try to kill each other on live TV.” Lois set her jaw in determination. “Get me a goddamn camera. We’re going on the news.”   
***  
“Ivan…” Antipov’s words hung in the air for a moment, “I know you’re in here. I recognize the smell of your cigarettes anywhere.” Antipov rounded a corner and found the horrific sight of President Lebed holding a gun to President Lane’s head. His eyes widened to unspeakable proportions. Antipov held up both of his hands.  
  
“The Americans have disgraced us for the last damn time!” Lebed proclaimed loudly.  
  
“Mr. President! This will not solve anything!” Antipov pleaded. Lebed laughed bitterly.  
  
“Of course not! But when the plan that Ares has so foolishly assisted me with comes to fruition - then the world will be Russian!” Lebed boasted proudly. Antipov shook his head.  
  
“Whatever that bastard has offered you, it’s a load of shit!” Antipov studied his surroundings - but there was nothing that would give him an upper hand. Lebed took a step towards him.  
  
“How good is your aim, Marshal? Because you better hope to kill me now. When we get out of here, I will personally perform your execution.” Lebed boasted. Antipov cocked his gun.  
  
“I would be the man who killed the American and Russian Presidents in a fit of insanity.” Antipov said. Lebed raised an eyebrow, laughing.  
  
“You would kill the both of us?” Lebed asked. Antipov nodded darkly.  
  
“It’s the only option that doesn’t leave Russia a pile of dust. I would do anything…” Antipov trailed off, “Anything for my country.”  
  
“That’s why I’m here, Marshal. If you could just see -” Lebed tried to justify himself.  
  
“I understand well enough, Ivan Fyodorovitch - you’re here for you. This hasn’t a damn thing to do about the Motherland, except as an excuse to bolster your own pride!” Antipov spat at Lebed. The Russian President seemed to chew on the information.  
  
Finally, at long last, he lowered his gun.  
  
“Thank you.” Antipov breathed a sigh of release. But then, Lebed raised his gun again, pointing it at Antipov instead. He didn’t have a chance to raise a threat - President Lane turned around and sucker punched him directly in the face. When she turned around she wasn’t Lane at all, but rather took on the form of a hulking green alien.  
  
“Good speech. Want a ride upstairs?” J’onn said to Antipov, who stood there sweating profusely, mouth opening and closing as he fought for words.  
  
“Uh…”  
  
Probably not the sort of witty remark that the only sane man currently in a position to lead Russia should be coming up with.   
***  
Kara Zor-El was  _really_  beginning to hate Diana.   
  
The demigoddess was no match for the sheer power and versatility of an adult Kryptonian one on one, but she took gleeful advantage of her surroundings to keep Kara distracted and off-balance, using every opportunity to strike for the warring diplomats around her. For every attempt Kara made to get her out of the building, Diana alternately dodged or managed to stop herself in flight by grabbing support beams as she was punched through walls.   
  
And of course punching her at full strength probably wouldn’t be a good idea, the shockwaves might be dangerous in the enclosed space.   
  
“You could join us, you know,” Diana taunted as she threw a table at a Japanese negotiator who was trying to strangle a Korean junior staffer, who in turn was attempting to throttle the Chinese ambassador with his tie; Kara barely intercepted it in time. “Ares knows who you are, Kryptonian. He thinks you’d be a great servant, and I agree; I love your sexy, sexy violence.”   
  
“ _Заткни пельку_!” Kara growled, throwing a punch that Diana barely dodged.  _Shut up!_  
  
“Aww, come on, you’d be a great girlfriend,” Diana smirked as she rolled backwards, grabbing two chairs and nearly braining the Indian and French ambassadors, Kara moving so fast the air snapped around her to save them. “Your little stunt at Warsaw? Beautiful! I mean, defying orders to launch an attack a week and a half early, killing an entire tank division by yourself, I was  _so turned on_  just hearing about that! Though, if you had listened to Stalin and not helped the Uprising, I think there’d have been more death overall, so on the balance…”   
  
“I am  _nothing_  like you,” Kara snarled, and she lunged before Diana could throw a dagger from her belt at the Spanish ambassador’s assistant, grabbing the demigoddess by the throat and twisting the knife out of her grasp with brutal strength before releasing the wrist. “ _За Родину! За Красная Армия!_ ”  _For the Motherland! For the Red Army!_ The Kryptonian punctuated each cry with a punch, cracking Diana’s cheekbone with the first and sending her reeling with the second.   
  
“Shit,” Diana spat as she scrambled backwards, vision blurry from the Kryptonian’s devastating strikes as she felt blood leak across her chin from her mouth. Then she was being lifted off the ground, and Kara’s fist hit her in the chest, and Diana crashed through two walls before she managed to grab a pillar and stop herself. “Ow...I suppose there are always other options…” Men and women alike started fights over Diana, she loved to just walk into a bar in an out-of-the-way place to start a fight whenever Ares really needed a quick boost of violence. It made a woman feel alive, to be fought over like that, to get under people’s skin and  _push_ …   
  
Diana dodged Kara’s charge with lightning speed, the shock wave of the Kryptonian’s blisteringly fast arrival blowing the demigoddess’s hair over her eyes; Diana shook her head to clear her vision, and took Kara’s next punch in the gut. She bent double with a wheeze of pain from a blow that would have shattered a diamond, but flailed out at the blonde’s chest and midsection as Kara grabbed her throat. One blow connected, and Kara hissed in pain, before slamming Diana into the ground and knocking the breath out of her again.   
  
The demigoddess felt a stab of fear. She’d known from Ares that Kryptonians were powerful, but she hadn’t understood just  _how_  strong they were. She blocked Kara’s punch for her head, and  _gods_  she was strong, Diana’s elbow slamming back into the ground, the Kryptonian pulling back and striking again with blinding speed. Diana barely got her other arm up in time, and her left ulna  _cracked_  from the sheer power of the blow, the shockwave from the impact knocking vases from their tables from twenty feet away. Her scream of pain was cut off as the Kryptonian grabbed her by the throat.   
  
“ _Ты - идиот!_ ” Kara snarled.  _You’re an idiot!_  “You seek a battle that you cannot win. I killed the Superman, left his body to fall from the skies over Berlin. I pulled Adolf Hitler from his bunker, crushed the  _Reichstag_  to the ground, and burned the Third Reich’s murder machine into ash. I could punch the Moon out of orbit or throw you into the Sun with barely a thought. If you go to war with me, you  _will_  die.”   
  
Diana wheezed a chuckle through the crushing hand, and Kara relaxed her grip just enough to let the demigoddess breathe, but kept her on the ground. “That’s what you think, baby,” Diana gasped. “But Ares feeds on the primal energy of violence. Every punch you throw, every blast of your heat-gaze, makes him stronger! Fight his minions? Makes him stronger! Fight a bunch of so-called  _peacemakers_  that we hit with barely a trace of the power of wrath?  _Makes him stronger!_ ” She grinned viciously, slamming a punch into Kara’s solar plexus, her fractured ulna blazing in agony as her other hand struck at the back of Kara’s elbow with all of her strength; there was a  _pop_  and the Kryptonian reared back with a cry of pain. Invincibility had its downsides; Kara, like Diana, had spent decades without even a hint of pain or injury, and an injury that a lesser metahuman might have been able to fight through caused her to instinctively shy away, giving Diana a chance to slip free.   
  
“And when he wins, hot tits?” Diana called hoarsely as she scrambled backwards. “I’ll have him bring you to me as my concubine. I think you’ll make a nice pet!”   
  
Kara’s elbow popped back into place. Diana saw the eyes blaze just a moment too late.   
  
The impact sent her flying through another three walls.   
***  
Audie Leon Murphy shoved the President down as the wall exploded, a tall, powerful brunette collapsing through.  _Son of a…_  He raised his hands into a fighting position as the woman rose, groaning.   
  
“Hold her off!” the President ordered. “We’ve got to calm the diplomats down to weaken Ares!” The implication, of course, being that letting the chaos  _spread_ \--and letting the still-broadcasting television cameras accidentally spark a war--would probably make him invincible.   
  
“Understood.” The man called Captain Freedom was no stranger to hopeless odds; he’d gone up against Reinhard Heydrich once in the old days, and had barely escaped with his life thanks to the Red Star. But you did what you had to do for your country.   
  
“Oh,  _excellent_ ,” the woman chuckled as she got fully to her feet. “The old man in the stupid costume.”   
  
“I take offense to the costume remark,” Murphy noted. Star-spangled tight pants were  _classic_ , damn it.   
  
The woman took a step forwards--and Power Woman was  _there_  in a blur of impossible speed and a  _crack_  of air. Damn, that was  _too_  familiar. He’d met the blonde before,  _somewhere_. The brunette choked in Power Woman’s grasp, and the blonde offered Murphy a crisp nod. “Captain Freedom, we meet again.”   
  
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”   
  
“We weren’t, we met some time ago.” The brunette clawed desperately at her face. “It would have been in Berlin, years ago. Please help me restrain her, without too many direct strikes.”   
  
“Sure thing, ma’am.” Murphy was impressed by the brunette’s strength, but he remained one of the strongest people on Earth; with Power Woman holding the enemy super in a chokehold, the brunette was easy to restrain. “Madam President, are you on?”   
  
“She is,” Power Woman confirmed. “President Lane, an acquaintance of my colleague Green Arrow has set you up to broadcast worldwide. We need you to stop the war. Again.”   
  
“Oh, Hell.” Lois ran her hand through her hair. “So much for the campaign being my biggest problem this year. Put me on every screen you can, let’s do this.”   
  
“You’ll...never...stop...us…” Diana wheezed. Power Woman flexed her bicep slightly and the demigoddess began to go purple as her oxygen was cut off.   
  
“Behave, or else,” the blonde ordered. “Madam President, you may begin at your leisure.”   
  
Lois stood up straighter, ran her hands through the messy remains of her bun, and set her face. “Whoever’s running the cameras, broadcast in five...four...three...two...one…” She gave a little pause.   
  
“People of the world, this is President Lois Lane, speaking from the diplomatic conference in the Hague. A supervillain called Ares has attacked the conference and mind-controlled dozens of diplomats, dignitaries, and world leaders in an attempt to start an apocalyptic Third World War.   
  
“However, we  _can_  weaken him--Ares draws his powers from violence, and we can stop him by cutting off his food supply. I call upon all of you, people of Earth, to immediately stand down from all armed confrontation and to set your weapons aside, as I hereby order the people and military of the United States of America to do immediately.   
  
“Do something kind, ask the person next to you about their life, do whatever it takes to promote a spirit of kindness, friendship, and mutual understanding to prevent Ares from gaining absolute power.”   
  
“How do we restrain her?” Murphy hissed to Kara as Diana continued to struggle and Lois exhorted anybody who was still watching to keep the nukes in the silos.   
  
“Short of killing her? I am not certain. Reactron was near Human-baseline with his powers deactivated, and I’ve only technically fought two other A-listers in my life.”   
  
“Of course, you’ve been inactive since the ‘40s,” Murphy realized. “You aged well, Junior Lieutenant Popova.”   
  
The woman who Audie Murphy had known as the Red Star cracked a grin. “You could say the same yourself, for a ninety-year-old man you are in excellent condition. Would you please not spread that information around?”   
  
“Not a problem, as far as anyone I talk to cares the Red Star died of her injuries in Moscow seven years before I took off the cape and threw it in McCarthy’s face.” That had been an interesting day--Murphy had been on a tour of America showing the flag to celebrate the victory in the Korean War, but had quit his superhero position in rage at being forced to stand on-stage with Joseph McCarthy as the lying skunk bragged about his fake war exploits and raged about alleged Communist infiltrators.   
  
Diana’s struggles slowed, and the white-clad super forced her to her knees. “Hopefully she requires oxygen,” Power Woman muttered, squinting down through Diana’s head. “Her heart rate is dropping, at least.”   
  
In front of the camera, and safely away from the whispered discussion, Lois Lane turned to Murphy. “Ambassador! Is anyone listening to us?”   
  
Murphy pinned Diana’s arms under one of his own against his side and tapped his communicator. “Waller, how are we on the broadcast?”   
  
“ _I have calls starting to come in--the Russians just got an order from Marshal Antipov to stand down across the country, and the Ukrainians are cooperating._ ”   
  
“I called off our forces,” a man with a heavy Petrograd accent growled; Murphy turned to see Marshal Antipov stagger in, half-supported by a Russian super wearing a garish white-blue-red banded costume. “Lebed is no longer leader of the Eurasian Coordinate, and when he wakes up he will have a choice between making an international scene or retirement in his mother’s Siberian cottage.” Antipov looked rather the worse for wear, with a cut on his forehead weeping blood onto a bruised eye as he holstered his gun. “Lieutenant Pushkin, go help the others contain the dignitaries. I must ensure that no-one is foolish enough to disobey my orders in favor of Lebed’s.”   
  
“ _Да, маршал!_ ” The Russian super saluted and hurried back into the fray in the main hall.   
  
“Marshal Antipov. Glad to see that someone else is sane,” Lois greeted the Russian as he stood in front of the still-broadcasting camera with her.   
  
“And I am glad to see that you are back to normal, and that no nuclear weapons have been launched.” Antipov seized Lois’s hastily set-up lectern and addressed the camera’s microphone in Russian. “ _Soldiers of the Eurasian Coordinate! Ivan Fyodorovitch Lebed has betrayed our homeland to the metahuman terrorist Ares, who sought to destroy Mother Russia and her people by provoking a multi-way nuclear war. Lebed ordered a full first-strike launch of our nation’s nuclear stockpile, which I have countermanded. He has since been removed from his position for his actions and his clear unfitness to command an army or to lead a nation. I call upon the men of our armies to comply with my orders and immediately lay down their arms and reach out to the soldiers across the border. Have a conversation, share a drink, play a game--find ways in which you are similar and avoid thinking of your differences. By embracing the international brotherhood of men and setting aside our weapons we will be able to weaken Ares and stop his plan to dominate our world and despoil our Motherland!_ ”   
  
“A good speech,” Power Woman noted. “Perhaps a bit too similar to the President’s. She did it better, methinks.”   
  
Murphy shook his head. “You’re right, but we  _need_  to be on the same message here.” Diana slumped in Power Woman’s grip, and she looked down again with that odd squint. “Is this one dead?”   
  
“ _Nyet_. Unconscious, I believe.”   
  
Murphy brought his communicator up again. “Waller, I need containment for a high-A-list metahuman with cat-6 strength at my position ASAP. Power Woman and I need to get back into the fight.”   
  
On the stage, Antipov and Lane turned to each other. “Friends for now?” Lois asked.   
  
“ _Da_. For the next day, we are friends.” He ran a hand through his greying hair and let out a chuckle. “I’m trusting the American over my own President. What a world we live in.”   
***  
"DIE!" Ares' shriek filled the air as he slammed an armoured fist into Athene's chest.  
  
Intellectually, she knew that her armour had shielded her from the worst, but her ribs were still broken. But she didn't care.  
  
" _You hurt Harley_ ," she said, slamming her right bracelet into the side of his head.  
  
The forging and technology that had combined to make Ares' armour were strong. But so too was that that had forged Amazonian bracelets. There was an almighty crack as Ares' head snapped to the side, and his helmet splintered. He fell back, only to hurl more lightning into Athens, knocking her into the giant board that dominated the head of the room.  
  
She should be in agony, she knew. But she was back on her feet, casting the Lasso and hurling Ares towards the ceiling. He slammed into it, then fell down to earth again, the floor shattering beneath him."Why won't you  _die_?" he howled. "You're not even a real Amazon!"  
  
" _You hurt Harley_."  
  
The Lasso snaked out again, but he managed to grab it and pull her close, punching her in the face.  
  
She felt her nose give way...and yet, the blow felt weak, somehow.  
  
Ares tried swinging again, but this time she was able to block, to hold his punch in place. He strained, roaring, but she held him steady, then brought her armoured elbow down heavy on his outstretched arm. There was a sound like a great tree breaking, and he fell, screaming. "No! No! I was so  _close_ , I could feel my strength growing...I cannot be weakened  _now_!"  
  
Athene picked up the Lasso again and held it ready. Ares hurled lighting from his unhurt arm, but she deflected it with her bracelets and hurled the Lasso...landing it about his throat and pulling it tight.  
  
" _You cannot kill War_!" Ares bellowed.  
  
"You're not War. You cause wars, you revel in them...but you're not War. You're just a fucking tumour who grows on the darkness of humanity." Kate tugged the Lasso tighter. "And I'm the scalpel."  
  
With a single yank, she pulled the Lasso away. The glowing line came away with some resistance...and Ares' head fell to earth. For a split second, his body still stood, then it exploded into pure light, only ash remaining.  
  
Kate collapsed, unable to stand anymore. Suddenly, pain was filling every part of her body, even totally limp she was in utter agony.  
  
"KATE!" Harley was above her now, pulling her helmet off and cradling her head.  
  
Kate smiled, even though that just hurt more. "You're OK...guess there really is a God."  
  
"You'll be OK, we'll get you outa here..." Harley was already playing the caduceus over the worst injuries.  
  
"Harley...I love you. Live or die...remember that... I love you with all my heart and soul..." Kate coughed. " _Shma Yisroel, Adonai..."_  
  
_"Don't you dare finish that sentence! HELP! SOMEBODY!"_    
  
**Outside the UN**  
  
John smiled in response to Shayera...only to hastily throw up a green energy shield as a projectile hurtled up from the ground. The flash tore at his eyes, but he and Shayera were safe.  
  
Looking down as his vision cleared, he saw the guards around the perimeter exchanging fire with a large group of men, all masked and wielding unfamiliar weaponry. Weaponry that was doing a number on the guards, who were pulling back quickly.  
  
He rose, ready to swoop down...when suddenly, there was a loud boom, and a sleek, white aircraft seemed to appear from thin air, banking and hovering above the enemy. As he watched, seven figures leapt down, landing hard on the ground below. All of them were wearing armour very similar to Athene's, though they were all visibly taller.  
  
One of them turned and made for the entrance into The Hague. The other six formed up in pairs. One raised a large riot-size shield, while one stood behind, wielding a gun-type weapon that they mounted on the edge of the shield. Multiple blasts struck the shields, but they were deflected...and as the gun-wielders returned fire with deadly effect, sweeping Ares' minions with livid energy blasts, the shield-bearers advanced. Slowly but surely, they advanced.  
  
The attackers held their ground at first, but as more of them fell, as the phalanx grew closer and closer, they broke and ran. Then the pairs broke apart, bolstering guns and shields in favour of swords.  
  
John winced. They were damn fast and very thorough. Even though they left the enemy alive, they were  _harsh_.  
* * *  
The main fighting was going on in the assembly still, but some of Ares' minions were still on the prowl, hunting down anyone who'd got clear of there but not of the building.  
  
Several of them had cornered a terrified group of Norwegian interns in a stairwell, and were preparing to strike. At least until Mari, channeling the Arctic Owl, dive-bombed them from the air, bearing one to the ground.  
  
The interns fled as the EAF president slammed a fist into another terrorist, now channeling the strength of a silverback gorilla. Then she kicked a third, with the power of a kangaroo.  
  
A heavy blow sent her flying, and the remaining enemies loomed over her. One of them had shed a wig to reveal a shaved head, and hate burned in his eyes. He raised his fist to strike...only for a long, muscular arm to grab his hand and  _squeeze_.  
  
Mari winced as she heard bones crack, and the scream that followed was positively deafening.  
  
The other two tried to run, but the newcomer caught them quickly.  
  
Mari studied her as she rose. She was black, though not as deeply as Mari herself - she looked more North African than sub-Saharan. Her black hair was cut close to her head, and she was  _tall_ , easily six foot seven if not taller. "Thank you," she said. "Though...I'm not sure I recognise you. Where are you from?"  
  
The other woman paused, then nodded. "Libya, originally," she said, her voice deep and melodious. "But long, long ago, before the scattered tribes were led home..." She looked at Mari. "You are Mari, the warrior queen of Eastern Africa," she said eventually. "We've heard of you. Nothing but good things."  
  
"President, actually, but...thank you? And you are?"  
  
"A friend. One who is needed."  
  
So saying, the other woman turned and stalked away.  
**  
Inside the UN**  
  
The air  _cracked_  and Power Woman was there, cape snapping in the wind and an unconscious Diana still in a headlock. “Is the healing device exhausted? I will carry her to the nearest hospital.” She squinted. “Broken bones, ruptured kidney, damaged spleen, punctured lung, severe damage to the superior vena cava. Contusions and fractures consistent with severe beating.” The alien grimaced, kneeling by Kate as she coughed up blood, sliding her arms carefully around the armored woman. “This is not good, but it is survivable if we get immediate treatment.”   
  
"Unnecessary."  
  
The two women looked over to the door as a new arrival - a tall, muscled black woman in armour like Athene's - entered. Reaching to her belt, she produced a pair of caduceuses and activated them, holding them over Kate until they were entirely drained. "She'll still need healing time," the newcomer said, voice soft, "but her life is safe."  
  
"And you are...?" Kara began.  
  
"Nubia." Harley rose. "You're Nubia, right?"  
  
"That's right. I am Captain..."  
  
Nubia got no further before Harley hurled herself into the taller woman, hugging her hard. "Thank you so much."  
  
Nubia looked down, surprised, then smiled. "We look after our own, little one."  
  
She turned to Power Woman. "Hippolyta, Eternal Queen of the Amazons, charged me and my companions with two things. One was to assist in defeating the minions of Ares. This we have done, though it was left to Kate to face him.” She looked regretful. “Unfortunately. While the minions of Ares weren’t a match for us, there were a lot of them and navigating this building is hard. The other..." she indicated Diana, "was to take custody of her."  
  
"You are late to the party," Power Woman noted. "And what claim do you have to this prisoner?"  
  
Nubia's face softened, and she stroked Diana's face with one hand. "This is Diana, daughter of Hippolyta. Our greatest treasure, stolen by Ares." Her eyes flashed at that. "One of his worst crimes...but we've found her now. And I mean to give my Queen back her daughter, let her try to undo the damage and lies Ares wrought upon her." She looked at Harley. "I'll need the Lasso. Only it can restrain her."  
  
"I cannot allow that," the Kryptonian replied, eyes cold for now but shoulders tensing in case of a fight. "I have been charged by Ambassador Murphy with holding this prisoner until she can be turned over to officers of the United States of America."  
  
Nubia looked at Kara levelly. "I have served Queen Hippolyta and Amazonia for three thousand years and my devotion has not once faltered. When she was a baby, I dandled this poor girl on my knee and sang her to sleep. If you think I'm going to be dissuaded from my duty to her, her mother or her people by a  _child_  like you, you're in error, and I care not  _how_  hard you punch."  
  
"Your parental feelings towards the prisoner are irrelevant," Power Woman replied. "And child, really? I did not fight the Third Reich and destroy a dozen death camps to be called  _child_."  
  
"That's OK, Power Woman." Amanda Waller's voice was quickly followed by the woman herself. "Nubia. Good to see you again."  
  
"Likewise, Amanda." A smile briefly appeared on the Amazon's face. "You've risen in rank, I see. My compliments." A frown reappeared. "I have reached an impasse with your minion."  
  
"Not for long. Power Woman, hand her over."  
  
"Secretary Waller, I am duty-bound to..."  
  
"I'm speaking with Presidential authority and I say we're extraditing this woman." Waller's expression softened. "Besides, can you think of any US or UN prison that'd hold her? Let the people with the experience do it."  
  
"People with experience? We have prisons for metahumans, do we not?"  
  
"Not designed for A-listers." It was true; A-listers had either been killed or escaped capture in the few previous clashes between supers of that magnitude. But the alien wasn't satisfied.  
  
"I do not wish to subject anyone, no matter how murderous or despicable, to imprisonment by a despotic monarchy outside of UN supervision," Power Woman noted. "It would be immoral to condemn even a serial killer such as this woman to potential torture and abuse."  
  
"If you do not hand her over immediately..." Nubia growled.  
  
"I have President Lane on my comm," Waller cut the Amazon short. "Use that super-hearing of yours and tell me what she's saying."  
  
The alien frowned, but relaxed her grasp on the unconscious Diana. "As you wish, Madam President." She turned to Nubia. "I will oversee the prisoner transfer personally, and will likewise expect that Athene's weapon will be returned to her undamaged once transport has been completed."  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Likewise,” Waller added, “this stays between us and the President. As far as the outside world - and the other leaders - are concerned, the women who arrived outside are a new super-team. The Amazons don’t exist and were never here.”  
  
Harley was crouching next to Kate now, who looked much less near-death but was groaning loudly. “Hey, as long as my girl’s still alive, I’m happy ta swear the Earth’s banana-shaped.” She cradled Kate’s head in her hands. “My brave, crazy girl. What the hell were ya thinkin’, takin’ on Ares without the rest of us?”  
  
“Uhhhhhhh....” Kate managed.  
  
“Well that’s it. I’m not lettin’ you go  _anywhere_ without me.  _Ever._ ”  
* * *  
“Madame President?” Jacob Kane said, stepping up to President Lane’s side. It took her a moment to respond; her phone was ringing off the hook as she fielded multiple questions a minute from every major department head in the United States and several world leaders.  
  
“Yes, Director Kane?” Lois turned to the ARGUS director, her hair slightly frayed but jaw firm, back in control of the situation where she belonged. Jacob slipped her a small piece of paper.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid that I must offer my resignation.” He said. Lois didn’t even look at the paper, but just stared at Jacob as if sizing him up. Jacob looked down guiltily.  
  
“Director, if this is about what happened today, I know it’s been rough but if you could just sleep on-” Lois began to explain, but she saw the resolute look on Jacob’s face.  
  
“Ma’am, my daughter came back from the dead. Not literally, but she was gone for some time and recently came back. Today I almost saw her die again and…” He trailed off for a moment as if considering some horrible alternative.  
  
_I can’t stand to lose her again._  Were the words he had been unable to say. Lois picked up on the sentiment and nodded.  
  
“Alright. I get it. Thank you for your service, Director.” Lois said, giving Jacob a professional nod. Jacob smiled.  
  
“You can just call me Jacob then, Madame President.” He said as he offered a hand for the President to shake. A few minutes later he was walking down the hall, trying to find where Kate and her friends had gone off to.  
  
Lois picked up her phone and dialed a number. “Waller? This is the President. Who’s that Extranormal Operations woman, the research team leader you said found the antidote to Ares’s super-serum? I’ve got a job for her.”   
  
**Infinity Tower, Jump City. Two days later.**  
  
“I’m honestly still surprised that went so well,” John said. “I mean, mind-controlled diplomats, six A-listers if you don’t count Kara and that Ares guy as a step above in the same fight? There could have been  _so_  many more casualties.” On one of the television monitors lining the walls, newsfeeds discussed the attack on the Hague conference and the ‘retirement’ of former Russian President Lebed to a dacha near Lake Baikal in Siberia. Tensions had decreased swiftly with the cooperation of various nations and their supers to defeat Ares, and Russian and Ukrainian forces had both stood down along the border in an uneasy truce that had so far held.   
  
Kara shrugged. “Everyone performed well, I thought. By foiling Ares’s initial plan and forcing him out into the open I believe that we successfully weakened him; with his full power at his disposal, he would likely have been far more destructive.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait! I forgot something.” She blurred away for an instant, then returned with her duffel bag and began searching through it. “I haven’t really gone on a vacation before, so I got souvenirs for us. Aha!” A small box like a CD case was pulled out and tossed to Harley, who caught it just in time. “My nephew is, ah, connected to certain gentlemen who can acquire unusual items cheaply. Or was, before Nadezhda Vasil’yevna and I had a talk with him. So, I know that you enjoy this Sabaton band, I bought a CD of one of their albums signed by the lead singer. The album is called ‘Heroes’, one of the songs is about my old regiment.”   
  
Harley’s eyes widened. “Waitwaitwait. You got Broden to  _sign_  something for you?”   
  
“Technically my nephew did. Adoptive nephew, technically. Since I was adopted.” Kara coughed and reached into her bag again. “He is no longer a smuggler, I swear. You should listen to the song called ‘Night Witches’ first. It is about the 588th.  My old regiment. Nadezhda Vasil’yevna would have liked it. And this is for Kate.” She held out a box. “Hot chocolate is good for recovery, and I have heard that Belgian is the best.”  
  
Kate sat up, only for Harley to gently push her back into a reclining position on the couch, tuck the blankets back around her and retrieve the gift. “Harley-girl, you don’t have to fuss so,” Kate protested. “The worst is healed up…”  
  
“Yeah, but ya still got ribs that need ta heal the old fashioned way, Red. An’ ya need  _rest_ after that fight. So you’re takin’ it  _easy._ ” Harley’s face was resolved. “After what Ares did to you, you’re crazier’n me if ya think I’m letting you exert yourself anytime soon. After what he did to  _you_ , an’ what that did to  _me._ ”  
  
Kate sighed as the blankets were tucked under her chin, before looking appealingly at the others. “Guys? A little help? Please?”  
  
“I was taught never to argue with doctors from the day I was decanted from my birthing matrix,” Kara replied primly. “And my sister taught me not to argue with one’s significant other while injured or ill. Ah, Lucy, this one is for Captain Sawyer.”   
  
“How the  _hell_  did you smuggle this through customs?” Lucy asked, taking the six-pack of beer, then whistling at the label. “ _Jesus_ , I didn’t know the Germans let this stuff out of the country!”   
  
“I can fly,” Kara noted. “Evading Customs was easy. Speaking of which, my nephew says this wine is good. I hope that you enjoy it, it was not easy to find and quite expensive.”   
  
“ _Chateau Lafite 1933_??? Kara, you can’t afford this.”   
  
“My nephew can. And he still owes me for keeping him out of prison.” There was a muttered sentence in Russian. “He has matured since then, I swear. Oh, and I got mugs for us all.” Kara pulled one out of her bag. The  _Ik hou van Holland_  mug looked entirely out of place in her hand. “I don’t see the point, but it is a tradition, and I wanted to do this right.”   
  
“Oh, Kara,” Lucy shook her head. “Never change.”   
  
“Nobody understands souvenir mugs,” Oliver noted. “It’s alright. You could’ve come to me, you know, I  _own a company_ , I could have gotten most of this on expense.”   
  
“I have money saved!” Kara protested.   
  
While Kara and Oliver argued, Shayera gripped John’s arm tightly and leaned close to his ear.  
  
“I believe I owe you a reward as well.” Shayera whispered, although Kara’s super-hearing picked it up. Fortunately for all involved, Kara was too well-raised and too busy arguing with Oliver to comment. John raised an eyebrow, smiling lightly.  
  
“You have a  _few hundred thousand dollars_  saved, and between your charitable activities and your food budget you’re burning through that pretty quickly,” Oliver noted. “Honestly, I think you should take the advertising deals you’ve been offered.”   
  
“ _Thank_  you,” Lucy muttered.   
  
“I’m not just a capitalist stooge,” Kara grumbled, stubborn jaw set.   
  
“It’s not about being a capitalist stooge, it’s about staying solvent,” Oliver replied. “Being a super is  _expensive_ , especially if you help pay for collateral damage, which anyone halfway socially conscious does, and without a steady source of income like I have endorsements are really the only way to make sure you can eat…”   
  
At the back of the group, John and Shayera attempted to subtly slip out of the room. Oliver saw it out of the corner of his eye and fell silent, making eye contact with Kara. Kara couldn’t help but smile while Oliver adopted a big stupid grin.  
  
“Have fun getting a room, you two!” Harley called out. John groaned. Of course, nothing could ever be  _subtle_  in a room full of people who dressed up in brightly-colored costumes and punched deities in the face.   
  
**Epilogue  
Unknown Location**  
  
The cavern lay quiet, its machinery - unbelievably ancient, yet of a stage of advancement that would have made this place a goldmine for any human government - utterly dormant. Even its mechanical guardians stood inactive, waiting.  
  
Suddenly, klaxons wailed across the cavern. Ancient circuits lit an angry red, machines that had lain quiet since their master had departed became active again. Some took up guarding positions, others moved to the centre of the chamber: a great altar, set into the living rock, topped with a sleek, silver pod.  
  
The pod was lit from within, energy beams converging on it as the chamber’s systems diverted additional power to it. An observer might have fancied that the sounds of yelling were coming from within…  
  
As suddenly as it had started, all was quiet again. The beams shut off, the circuits went quiet, glowing green now. The top of the pod peeled back, releasing a great gout of steam into the cool subterranean air.  
  
Slowly, painfully, two hands reached up and seized the edges of the pod, propelling the occupant up. Instantly, two machines reached their mechanical arms up, helping the figure within out, laying it down on a stretcher to convey it to a care station. They knew that their master would require time to recover from the process of rebirth.  
  
Weak, mind in turmoil, the being had no idea what had happened. Had little memory, indeed, of what its plots and actions of recent history had been. But it knew that its rebirth only had one reason: it had been slain, its plans thwarted.  
  
Rage filled it.  _I am Ares. The Olympians could not hold me back. And neither will those primitives who seek to deny their true destiny._  
  
_When I am ready, there will be a reckoning._  
  
**Interstellar space, approaching the Oort cloud of Sol.**  
  
“An impressive show.” a tall woman, dark brunette hair streaked with grey, said as the feed from the Kryptonian drone shut off. Next to her, the Archon, goatee crisply trimmed and uniform without a single crease, simply shrugged.  
  
“For a Class 3 planet, yes.” the Archon called Zod admitted. A whip-thin man in unmarked clothing stepped past the woman, reviving the camera feed and rewinding several minutes. He pointed at the screen, the image frozen on Power Woman punching Diana six feet into the ground with one hit.   
  
“This one in particular seems to be a head above the rest, my Archon. I believe that this planet’s sun will enable us to reach a similar level of power, due to the same photosynthetic reaction that we have noticed in our bodies when passing certain other stars.” the thin man explained, zooming in on the superheroine’s glowing eyes. “Note the projection of collected energy through the eyes--I suspect it to be a unique adaptation of our energetic biomatrix, similar to that which allows us great strength and durability when under the light of suns other than Rao.”   
  
“Are you suggesting that she is a Kryptonian, Jax-Ur?” Zod said, intrigued. The thin man, Jax-Ur, shrugged.   
  
“Perhaps. Certainly Kryptonian-like,” he replied. He looked to the woman, who was ignoring both, staring at the screen with a frown. “General In-Ze?”   
  
“Interesting,” the woman muttered under her breath, but both others caught it with their strangely enhanced hearing.   
  
“Interesting indeed, Arclomnian,” Zod echoed her sentiment. “What is our ETA, Lancepesade Tor-An?” he called to a mid-sized man across the room.  
  
“At our current rate, sixteen more Wegthorian cycles, Archon.” the Lancepesade replied. “The Light forces remain some fifty cycles further; our arrival should be unimpeded.”   
  
Zod nodded crisply, crossing his hands behind his back as he turned and took flight, casually defying the artificial gravity of the ship on his way to his bunk. “Excellent. Wake Subcommander Faora’Ul and brief her, Lancepesade. If you are correct, Jax-Ur, you will be well rewarded. If we do indeed have such power on this world, it will be a trifling matter to make them all kneel before Zod.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, Themiscyra! Featuring Kara "Blunt object with Opinions" Zor-El and Queen "Hasn't been seriously questioned in 3 thousand years" Hippolyta. This can't possibly end badly, right? 
> 
> Sabaton, a Swedish power metal band that we've referenced a few times (Harley sings one of their songs while fighting Nazis), does a lot of stuff about military heroes. "Night Witches", on their album "Heroes", is about the 588th Night Bombers regiment of the Soviet Union, popularly known as the Night Witches. In this timeline, Kara flew with them during the Second World War. Look them up--they were some really badass ladies, more than a dozen Heroes of the Soviet Union among them. 
> 
> The American terrorist with the private army that Lucy mentions is a reference to a noxious neo-Nazi "author" called Tom Kratman, whose understanding of military tactics and training begins and ends with naked SS-worship, and whose bigotry is not so much obviously apparent as integral to every single word of his long, boring, ranting "novels". I recently read one of his drawn-out Islamophobic polemics masquerading as a novel and felt that the murderous thug "protagonist" needed some justice. 
> 
> Character profile for Seif al-Islam, the Iraqi super:  
> Seif al-Islam  
> Real name: Amal bint-Selim al-Baghdadi (of no relation to the delusional terrorist)  
> Nationality: Iraqi (Sunni, ethnic Arab)  
> Affiliation: Iraqi national super.  
> Powers: Partial metamorphosis--can transform hands into super-tough sword blades surrounded by a corona of fire, which is harmless to Seif al-Islam. Moderately enhanced strength (maybe 1.5 times as strong as a comparable baseline)  
> Backstory: Amal bint-Selim was pretty lucky, as Iraqi girls go. Her parents were pragmatic, politically moderate city dwellers, and wanted their daughter to get an education and get a good job so her kids could have a good future. They could accept abandoning Islam, they could accept not getting married, and they promised themselves that they would accept potential homosexuality. Unfortunately, their "daughter" has identified as male for years, and their daughter being trans is a bit more than Amal's parents can quite wrap their heads around. Currently 19, "she" is the officially-sponsored super of the Iraqi Republic. 
> 
> Seif al-Islam's powers manifested at the age of 12, and he was quickly snapped up by the Iraqi government and set up as a super. He likes being a super, as in combat he can pretend that he isn't stuck in the wrong body, and hopefully his salary will pay for gender reassignment eventually. Seif al-Islam is currently being deployed by the Iraqi government to fight DAESH holdouts in Mosul, a task that he takes to with frightening glee. His costume is simple and utilitarian--black hood and veil leaving the eyes only visible, loose black long-sleeved shirt and pants. Iraqi propaganda and press releases officially calls him female, which he is increasingly frustrated by.


End file.
